


What You Did to Us

by loserchic



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, M/M, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Soul Bond, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, bond, dance au, soulbond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 19:29:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 48
Words: 52,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3500186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loserchic/pseuds/loserchic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where alphas and omegas are born with the first name of their mates on their wrists, alpha Derek's mate's name comes in mysteriously late. Thinking his mate will never show up, Derek marries Kate and has a son. When his true mate, Stiles, enters the scene Derek attempts to divorce Kate to be with him. Stiles has known Derek is his mate since he was 11, but he's not impressed by Derek's plan at all. Stiles doesn't want to be the other woman and Kate doesn't want to let Derek go, but there is something about Stiles scent that makes Derek think he might not have long to figure this whole mess out...<br/>ALSO, somehow this became about fictional dance shit... idk... my childhood ruined me. </p><p>Inspired by a great fic by aohatsu: http://archiveofourown.org/works/925674</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What This Is

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aohatsu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aohatsu/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi beautiful people! Sometimes I put links to songs in the summary that go with the chapter. Check them out for an enhanced, campy experience of this fic!
> 
>    
> ((Save Us))  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QqvnObM3Xow
> 
> ((Derek is in real time- Stiles is flashbacks))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://loserchicwrites.tumblr.com/
> 
> Follow me!

This has nothing to do with the way he was raised. (Sandwiched between two sisters. All three kids alpha and proud like their mother). Nobody can possibly blame this on his childhood. (The Hales are fucking old money). No, Derek doesn’t have ‘alpha mommy issues.’ (Kate was the first beta married into the family since America became like... a country.) This is not about undying love as in forgiveness- this is about consequences as in the rest of his life. And mostly, this is about Stiles.

In a sea of betas (about 60% of the population,) the Hale family has always been strictly alpha and omega, the first names of their mates showing up like a first, one word, handwritten love letter tattooed by Mother Nature across their wrists when they’re born, the letters of their destined mate’s name slowly becoming more solid and readable with age. Most alpha and omegas are born with only one letter of their mate’s name visible on their wrist, the rest of it gradually appearing and solidifying usually around the age of seven. Biology doesn’t label betas the way it meddles and predetermines alpha and omega matches; they aren’t born with letters on their skin and it’s illegal to tattoo names on anybodies’ wrist in most countries. Betas get married and have kids but they don’t have mates- they aren’t born with one person who is best suited to them biologically, emotionally, or mentally and they don’t smell.

Of course, Derek had never really cared about what the betas did while he was growing up. His whole family was either alpha or omega and had been that way since... always. Derek’s parents’ house is filled with a collection of various styles of used and abandoned wrist guards Derek and his sisters, Laura and Cora, had all cycled through at some point growing up, but Derek is the only one of the siblings who still wears one now. Derek very rarely takes the basic black guard off anymore. He sleeps with it and has even taken to showering with it. Derek knows this whole thing is his fault and he has to live with it, but most of the time Derek cannot be reminded of it, cannot see his mate’s name on his wrist, so clear and so black against his pale skin, and still want to get out of bed in the morning, so keeping the wrist guard on is his one indulgence. Sometimes Devon plucks at it, but even at four years-old, Derek’s son knows better than to ask.

This is about consequences as in forever. This is about what you cannot take back. This isn’t about wishful thinking.

Derek has always been different. The Hale family is a fucking apple pie of white, old money, alpha-centric, ivory tower, corporation-owning, jet flying, Page Six-ing, CNBC interviewee, too many ties cliches. Derek’s kind of a disgrace. And the thing is, it’s always been like this for him, his whole life. Derek, who likes tattoos and destroyed denim. Derek, whose mate’s name didn’t even start appearing on his wrist until he was eight. Derek, who only had three small block letters, the start of a name when he got beta heiress, Kate Argent, knocked up at 25. Derek who married her three months later- and asked for a divorce from her four years after that. The black sheep of the Hale empire. And he didn’t mind. Didn’t care. Didn’t even conceive of what his choices meant or could ever mean until it was too late.

Derek is different. His immediate family is the only other constant in his life besides money and pain, and he loves his mother and father and sisters so much he sometimes can delude himself into thinking they are enough for him. That they will take the pain away. Derek eats with the whole group most weekends. He’s watched Laura’s eyes twinkle and shine brighter than any diamond a few days before her eighteenth birthday when she’d touted Kenneth home proudly to meet their parents. The omega had Laura’s name in her large loopy handwriting was unmistakably scrawled on his wrist, and Kenny hadn’t stayed a stranger for long after that. Cora brought home Heather during her sophomore year at college with the grin of a lioness who had just taken down a gazelle. Heather’s name on Cora’s wrist had only been a green ‘H’ until Cora was 10, when the rest had come in all at once. Heather had looked down at her lap that first night at home and blushed. Green was her favorite color. Derek had smiled at this, but his smile wasn’t quite as big as the one Kenny and Laura shared from across the table. That night, Cora and Heather had hugged him before trooping up to Cora’s room on the third floor, hand in hand, soft skin against skin. Laura had kissed him before grasping Kenny’s hand in her own and heading out the door. Derek had watched his sisters and their mates with his own hands in his lap, one of them covered by the ugly black wrist guard.

Derek has always been different. Derek is an alpha like his sisters and Derek’s mate’s name is unmistakable on his wrist but it showed up eight years late. Derek has a mate like his sisters, but Derek can’t reach out and touch his hand. Derek can’t bring him home and Derek can’t take him upstairs to his childhood room in his parents’ house. Don’t get Derek wrong- he has a great life. Derek has an incredible son, a rewarding job, a beautiful house, and the best sisters in the whole world. But Derek goes to bed in his nest alone every night and wakes up alone every morning. Derek’s mate doesn’t even smell like him. Derek is different. Derek cannot be with his mate because somewhere along the line, Derek messed up. Derek made a mistake. And this isn’t about love as in fairy tales. This is about reality as in wanting and needing and not having. This is about hell. But mostly, this is about Stiles.


	2. Biology Pas de Duex

Stiles is different. The day after Scott was born a dainty “A” appeared on his wrist in beautiful, indigo curling script. When Stiles came out of the womb he was screaming with vehemence only a Stilinski could manage and flapping around a wrist with the sharp, distinctive block letters, D-E-R-E-K, fully formed, and massive-looking on his newborn arm. They don’t make wrist guards for toddlers. Stiles’ parents wrapped his tiny arm in colorful gauze until he was eight. 

Stiles hated that fucking gauze before he even knew the F-word. At school all of the guys speculate about their mates before most of the names have even come in completely. Stiles is proud that his mate’s name came in first and his lettering is the sharpest and boldest of any of names at his lunch table. It’s childish, but Stiles always thinks Derek must want him the most if his claim came in so early and so darkly. Fully bonded parents and teachers don’t wear wrist guards and Stiles doesn’t think he needs to either. He sheds the gauze whenever he can.

Stiles’ mom dies when he’s four. He doesn’t remember much, but there is a lot of crying and flowers and Stiles starts spending more and more time at Scott’s house. Stiles is sad for his dad and he misses his mom, and it hurts, but Derek’s name is so complete and so comforting that when Stiles looks at his wrist he can’t bring himself to worry about the future. Derek will take care of him. Derek marked him before Stiles was even born. 

Other than Derek- or rather, the idea of Derek, the only other constant in Stiles’ life is dance. After Stiles’ mom dies, Scott’s mom convinces Sherif Stilinski Stiles needs somewhere to go when he’s at work. Even in preschool Stiles cannot sit still for anyone, so the Sherif asks Stiles’ mom’s omega brother, Joe, if he can watch Stiles in the afternoons. Joesy and his alpha, Manes, were champion Alpha/Omega dancer partners. They took home the silver medal in 1996 at the summer Olympics in Atlanta for A/O pair dancing. After retiring from performance, Joesy and Manes opened a prestigious studio and train many high ranking dancers. Stilies likes the loud music and the rapid beats. He likes getting stronger and doing high kick drills after school with the other omega students. Stiles is lithe and flexible like his Uncle Josey and lands his first basket stunt with Scott at the age of six. Soon, the sherif starts dropping Stiles off before school so he can warm up with his uncles. Soon, dance is so locked in Stiles body, it’s like his first language. Stiles starts competing on a local level with Scott as his alpha partner when he’s seven. Scott is strong and reliable, and his mom has TV in her minivan, but he doesn’t have the same fire for the sport as Stiles. There was a time when all Stiles wanted or expected to want was Derek. Now Stiles has found something he wants almost as much- to win. 

Training for A/O pair dancing is expensive and Stiles knows he’s unusually fortunate to have two of the most respected trainers in the sport for uncles. Joesy and Manes travel with Stiles and the rest of the A/O team around the country for competitions. Stiles still dances with Scott as his partner sometimes, but mostly he competes with solos when he’s not competing with the team. Both his dad and Josey say it’s too early to think about a permanent alpha dance partner for Stiles, no matter how good he is. Stiles is just hitting the beginning of puberty now, but he still competes without his wrist guard most of the time. It gets in the way of Stiles’ stunts sometimes and he’ll never get a contract with a pro company if he doesn’t practice his stunts. 

When they have time, both Scott and Stiles follow pro A/O dance companies religiously. Stiles’ favorite company is Danse des Loups and his favorite alpha principal dancer is Laura Hale. Laura has such intensity and perfect articulation as she easily manipulates and frames her omega partner, Erica Reyes, in the televised competition Stiles and Scott are glued to in Scott’s living room. Above them, sitting on the couch are the sherif and Josey, talking about Stiles’ last competition and debating the next flight out of Denver for a national open. 

“Her turnout is perfect.” Scott breathes, staring transfixed at Reyes. 

“Mine is almost that good.” Stiles grins at his friend, boldly optimistic and excited in a way only an eleven-year-old can be. “One day, I’ll be better even better than her.”

Scott had batted at Stiles with a pillow then, smirking playfully, but Stiles is serious. He’s good- he knows he is, and people on the competition circuit are starting to notice. All he has to do is keep training, keep trying harder, and getting better. Going pro is Stiles dream and he doesn’t care how much he has to tape his feet or how many hours he has to clock in the studio with his uncles to get there. 

The competition comes back from commercial break and an tall, dark, rookie dancer takes the floor. Stiles’ already trademark baby animal eyes widen to the size of hockey pucks as the brassy announcer explains the dancer is first year rookie, Derek Hale, Captain Laura Hale’s younger brother. Stiles feels his breath lurch and everything in him grow at once icy cold and sharply hot. He can’t take his eyes off the smooth, powerful alpha dancer, and he wants nothing more than to run towards the big screen TV and just live in it, be there with his mate. 

“That’s him!” He breathes, looking up at his coach and his dad, breathless and excited. “That’s my Derek!”

The sherif frowns, studying the TV, “Is that normal?” he asks, Joesy cautiously, “How can you tell?”

“I just know!” Stiles insists. “I know that’s him!”

Scott’s head is nearly perpendicular with the floor as he cocks it, looking at the screen. “He’s kind of... old.” Scott says, frowning with confusion.

But Stiles doesn’t care. He knows Derek Hale is his alpha the same way he knows he could pas de bourrée into an open second in his sleep. Derek is in his muscle memory like the movements of a dance and nobody is going to tell him otherwise. 

“That’s Captain Laura Hale’s brother,” Joesy supplies to the sherif. “Promising rookie dancer, I’m told. The Hales own part of the company, you know. Tatiana Hale, their mother, used to dance when she was younger as well. Laura is retiring this year. Just as well. The Hales were always more serious about business than sport.” 

The sherif frowns even more deeply, switching his discouraging gaze from Derek’s image on the TV to his son’s rapt expression. “Stiles, one thing I’ve always admired about you is how little you seem to obsess over your mate’s name- I know how you kids are these days. If this Derek is your Derek, isn’t it best you wait until you’re older to meet? If it’s meant to be there’s no harm in that. Focus on school and dance now- and a mate later. You have your whole life to mate.” 

Stiles understands this, even if he feels this sharp, aching longing for the dark dancer on the television. Stiles is 11 the first time he sees his mate, and it’s only on TV. But Stiles is good. He’s a good dancer and he’s going to be a good omega. Somewhere inside he knows this is how it is. And he knows he and Derek Hale will be together in a pro company one day.


	3. The Role of a Lifetime

To be honest, Stiles has never been good at multitasking. When Stiles turns thirteen the sherif finally agrees to let him be home schooled with the help of several long-suffering tutors so Stiles can dance full time without worrying about missing school. It’s around this time Stiles stops hanging out with anyone who isn’t a dancer, a dance coach, or is in some way connected to the dance world. He stops watching anything on TV that isn’t a professional National Alpha/Omega Dance League competition and he stops eating cake at birthday parties. By the time Stiles is fourteen he doesn’t get invited to birthday parties anymore.

Oddly enough, for a healthy teenaged omega, Stiles is okay with all of this. Stiles finds outside of the studio and the competition scene he doesn’t understand much of how the world works. There is a lot of talk about ‘omega rights,’ and ‘omega double standards,’ and ‘omega oppression’ theses days and Stiles is never quite sure what to say anymore when the local press starts asking him about his views. Stiles’ world was never a big place, but the better he’s gotten as an athlete the more narrow it’s become. Stiles wants to dance and Stiles wants to win. Stiles wants to be drafted by Danse de Loups when he finishes high school and be with his Derek. Everything else is too confusing. Stiles is sixteen when a brigade of reporters after his second place victory at Junior Nationals ask if he’s recently tried becoming a vegetarian to try to modify his physique to embody more of the ‘omega ideal’ and if he thinks this makes him a bad role model to young omegas who look up to him. Another asks what Stiles thinks of provocative competition omega dance moves and if an omega has to sell sex to be competitive in this sport. Stiles stares at the bouquet of microphones like they are about to bite him. 

“I didn’t sign up to be a role model,” Stiles bites his lip in studio the next day while he’s warming up with Josey. “I just want to dance.” 

Josey pressed down on Stiles’ lower back, adjusting his spine carefully into straighter alinement. “People are starting to recognize you as an up and coming athlete, Stiles.” Josey says. “You know answering questions is part of it.”

“I want to be the best,” Stiles says, gritting his teeth through the stretch. “I don’t see what any of this has to do with me. I’m an athlete, not a model.”

Joesy’s face twists a little. “You’re an omega, Stiles. And because you’re an omega in a performance-based field a lot of people will want to tell you what that means or how you should be. What’s right or wrong for you to do or say- even how you handle the sport. In A/O pair dancing omega is more than your gender role, more than who you are to your alpha,- it’s the position you play on the team. I know you’ve heard a lot lately about how a ‘proper’ omega shouldn’t even be dancing, but you know that isn’t true.”

Stiles looks up at his uncle. “Some of the hecklers at Junior Nationals called me an... exhibitionist.” He makes a face, looking down at his wrist almost without meaning to. “Some people said that Der- ... that my alpha wouldn’t want me.” He can’t bring himself to say his Derek’s name aloud, not in this context. He can’t think about Derek with his tall, lean musculature and his perfect form not wanting him.

“You know there are plenty of mates who have met doing this sport.” Joesy says, putting a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “Like Manes and I.”

Stiles sighs, looking down at his worn, comfortable dance shoes. “I love dancing more than anything in the whole world.” His voice is tight and he hates it. Stiles is tough. He’s known Derek is his alpha for five years now and he’s resisted taking a bus out to California and tracking him down this whole time. Stiles is strong. You don’t get where he is today without having nerves of titanium. “But I want... I don’t want my alpha not to want me.” He admits, cringing hard. 

Josey sinks down to the floor next to Stiles with a barely audible sigh. “I thought we weren’t going to worry about your alpha right now. I thought you wanted to dance. I thought your dream was to go pro.”

That is Stiles’ dream, and God knows he gets up and works for it every single day. He’s given up school, and sleep, and even Scott for his dream. But Derek Hale is his dream too. And he’s not sure going pro is worth it without Derek. Stiles is strong. He needs to be strong as much as he needs to tread water in a pool to avoid drowning. But he always pictured having Derek at the end of all of this and some nights he wants his mate so much he can barely think about any other dream. 

Josey lets him go without making him talk about it anymore, but that night he hears his dad on the phone muttering in low concerned tones. He doesn’t need psychic abilities to know his coaches have his dad on speaker phone and they’re talking about him. Then February rolls around that year and it turns out nobody had anything to worry about anyways.


	4. Worthwhile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ((Someone Else's Story))  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zbGEpFP4jYg

Stiles is a newly minted seventeen and two competition seasons away from his first professional A/O draft. He’s on the road about 30% of the time and Joesy has started talking to sports agents for him. Stiles is still good. Stiles gets the job done. He takes the top honors at 74% of his competitions now. He has one of the highest win records of the junior omega dancers in the country. He’s got over two million followers on twitter. He gets mobbed at competitions. He still might not be good enough to get drafted by the Danse de Loups. And this is unacceptable to Stiles. 

It’s four months to Junior Nationals and Stiles is working over the younger alphas on his team, trying to teach some of the rookies proper stunting with a real omega with ESPN on in the background at the gym. There’s a loud, obnoxious noise from the TV and Stiles startles so much he loses his perfect balance from the broad shoulders of a panicking 16 year-old alpha and winds up tumbling down into the flailing arms of an alpha spotter. The younger alpha starts apologizing in a hurricane of sputters, his face positively purple at the prospect of dropping the team’s star omega but Stiles can’t hear anything but the reporter on the TV. 

“Breaking news from the Danse de Loups team in Beacon Hills!” The reporter shrilly announces. “Team Captain Derek Hale verifying to us today that he has indeed wed media heiress, Kate Argent, today in a private ceremony on the couples’ estate in California. The couple say they are expecting their first child in August, and they are extremely happy.” 

The screen flashes to a Twitter photo of Stiles’ Derek’s face bent down, close next to a beautiful, smiling, honeyed woman, radiant in a modern white dress. Derek’s face is in profile to the camera, his eyes looking down at his... his wife, his expression nearly unreadable. 

“Certainly surprising news, Kathy,” one of the anchors, says to the other, as the screen flashes back to the news desk. “as Hale, along with his two sisters, are noted alphas.”

“Surprising, but not entirely unheard of. There have been other rare documented cases of alphas falling in love with betas. I guess, the heart wants what the heart wants.” The other anchor agrees with a sickeningly large smile. “Derek Hale has been notoriously private about his supposed mate’s name over the years. This is one celebrity you will never see without a wrist guard, folks.”

“Regardless, nobody can deny Kate Argent is a gorgeous young lady and a wonderful catch!” 

Stiles feels as though he’s been stabbed in the gut with several frozen swords and then buried alive. All of a sudden he can’t swallow or hear and he thinks the whole world might have gotten on a Tilt-a-Whirl. So that’s it, then. After all these years and countless fantasies. After not just believing, but really, actually knowing Derek Hale was the same Derek on his wrist, the Derek he was born for... now he knows. Derek Hale is not his Derek. Derek Hale was never his to begin with and Stiles is either delusional or pathetic or an excessive amount of both. Stiles is at once both too numb to move and in too much pain to breathe. Captain Derek Hale isn’t his Derek. The realization splashes over him like being drowned in an ice bath. But he knows the truth now. He can’t be his Derek because Stiles knows in his heart his mate would wait for him. Stiles knows his mate is out there and is missing Stiles as much as Stiles is missing him. Stiles' mate wouldn’t marry a beta, let alone have a kid with one. Because alphas know. They always know who belongs to them. They have better noses than betas and omegas. There is no way Stiles’ alpha would get married to the wrong scent. 

He blinks, realizing all the young alphas on his team are staring at him like they’re terrified he’s about to spontaneously combust, or vomit all over the gym, or both. He feels a cold trickle of icy sweat dribbling down his spine. There is another long moment where he can’t feel his face and it’s like all the blood in his body has turned to mercury. 

“Stiles, are you... you okay, man?” on of his teammates asks, hesitantly. “Should I call Joesy?”

Stiles blinks back at for a moment, reptilian and lost, before violently shaking his head. “No, I was just startled. It happens.” He says, his voice gaining volume and sureness. “Omegas startle easily and if you don’t want to loose points in comp season you’re going to have to be better at saving a stunt than that! That was pathetic. You’re broad as a fucking boardwalk, Bassy! Pull it together, slacker! I want two hundred pushups from all of you!” 

There is a murmur of grumbling from the rookie alphas, but they drop down quickly, eager to please the star omega. Stiles stares down at the laboring alphas cooly, his brain slowly coming back online. Stiles thought Derek was his dream. Stiles is a fucking moron. But Stiles still has a dream and nobody, not Kate Argent, or Derek Hale, or anybody else in the whole world is going to keep him from getting that one. Going pro is the only worthwhile dream he’s ever had in his life, anyways.


	5. Heading to Beacon Hills

MOST WANTED: How Stiles Stilinski Became the #1 Omega Draft Pick for the Alpha/Omega National Dance League and Redefined Perfection 

By: Buck Lewis (Sports Illustrated) 

Go to any high school in America and the name, Stiles Stilinski, is echoing all over the halls. At just under nineteen years of age, Stiles, as his friends and fans alike call him, is one of the most popular omega dancers today. Just two years ago, Stiles was a talented junior level omega dancer being coached under his uncle, former Olympic medalist, Joe Johnson, and competing on the national circuit with a 74% win average. This was certainly impressive, but not unheard of for young, up and coming dancers hoping to make it to the pros. 

“Stiles has always had amazing technique.” John Ross, director of the OANDL says. “Many of us have followed his junior career since he was 13 or so. However, it wasn’t until the last two seasons that we began to see true potential for Stiles to become a OANDL legend.”

For many OANDL dancers and coaches, Stiles has become something of a phenomenon over the past two seasons, ditching conventional omega modesty in favor of edgy, audacious performances that were previously unheard of at the junior level. Many consider Stiles the new ideal for an OANDL omega principal dancer- passionate, athletic, with a face that bleeds with poignant and raw emotion in every performance. 

“The first time I saw this new side of Stiles perform I was absolutely floored.” Says Jules Martin, Senior Judge at the Junior National Competition. “Stiles is a new kind of omega for the sport. Coach Josey and Stiles have left omega reserve in the locker room. Stiles performs with his whole heart. Watching him is a near voyeuristic experience.”

For all of Stiles’ passion and power on the floor, the athlete is notoriously private and professional when he’s not performing. With his overwhelming athletic success, Stiles has cut back significantly on his public appearances and interviews with the press. The omega has taken top honors two years running at Junior Nationals and boasts a nearly undefeated record, so it’s no surprise that Stiles was the OANDL’s top draft pick this year. For weeks fans and the media have waited with baited breath to see where the prodigy would go. Stiles' contract with seasonal powerhouse, Danse de Loups is widely considered the biggest sports story of the season.

“Stiles is an extraordinary athlete.” Says former Danse de Loups alpha captain, Laura Hale. “He’s such a gorgeous omega and I know our fans will love him. I really can’t wait.”

The Hale family are legacy athletes in the Danse de Loups, and part owners. Laura’s younger brother Derek is a current alpha on the team. He took over as team captain when she retired five years ago. 

“The Loups are really looking forward to the new recruits this season.” Derek commented. “Getting them acclimated to our team dynamic is my first priority.” 

Unlike his sister, Captain Derek made no mention of the sensuality that has made Stiles such a popular athlete and pushed his rise to fame. We can only wait for the most anticipated season of OANDL yet and hope Stiles lives up to the hype.


	6. The Game Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ((A Little Bit Stronger))  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OF2ynnNSEzg

Was signing with the Loups and moving to Beacon Hills the smartest decision Stiles and his team of coaches and agents ever made? Yes. Fuck yes, it was and nobody is going to tell him otherwise. The truth was, Stiles didn’t have much of a choice. The Loups had first draft pick, and they offered him a more than generous contract. There was no reason not to go. Other than the fact the Stiles almost projectile vomits every time he thinks about spending inordinate amounts of time working out, traveling, and dancing with Not-His-Derek. But really- with how many stress ulcers Stiles has had over the past two years- it’s not that bad. 

Stiles doesn’t own a lot. Everything he’s made over his short lifetime has gone back into his sport, so it take virtually no time pack up his old Jeep. Saying goodbye to his father and Joesy isn’t easy, but there’s Skype and texting and it’s not like Stiles has ever had much time for anyone anyways. Scott and Melissa promise they’ll take care of the sherif and feed him home cooked meals regularly, and then that’s it. That’s literally the end of Stiles’ goodbyes. He sighs a little when he realizes he doesn’t have friends other than Scott and Scott’s mom, his dad, and his coaches, and previous tutors. Not so much friends as family and ... staff. It’s a little sadder than Stiles would like to admit to himself, but fuck the world, Stiles is a champion and champions don’t need friends or Dereks. 

There is one whole leather shaving bag filled with wrist guards in Stiles’ carry on now. He refused to check them because Stiles is terrified of the idea of his bags getting lost and getting stuck with a wrist guard that calls attention to his spot. He has every color in the rainbow and then some now. Before he left for Beacon Hills he ordered three new wrist guards in Loups’ blue so they would blend in with his new uniform. Over the last two years Stiles has learned to stunt with a wrist guard. Hell, Stiles has learned to drive, shower, shit, shave, and do everything else with a wrist guard. He used to feel proud going around and performing with a naked wrist- now he can’t imagine ever not covering again, even in private.

Stiles doesn’t think about his mate anymore, doesn’t even wonder. Stiles is an omega- an omega Sports Illustrated called ‘ideal’ and he’s not exactly about to correct them. Stiles is successful, sure, but the fans and the big OANDL contract haven’t gone to his head. Stiles doesn’t like to think about it, but deep down he knows the truth. Stiles is the exact opposite of an ideal omega. Whomever his mate is doesn’t even want him enough to find him. Stiles isn’t worth claiming, so he might as well be the best at dancing. Fans seem to like him, even if his mate doesn’t. And sometimes, when he’s got a medal around his neck or a trophy in his hand- it’s almost like having a mate who loves you. 

It takes Stiles nearly eight hours to drive to Beacon Hills, and he only stops to use the restroom. Stiles has always worked with nutritionists, but over the past two years, he’s really taken control of his own food plan. Stiles is careful and repetitive about his diet and he never deviates from the plan. Stiles grown to hate surprises and spontaneity and impulse eating. He makes almost all of his own meals, sealing them in uniform freezer packs or eco-friendly tupperwear. If Stiles had an alpha, he would prepare Stiles' food and make sure everything was just so, but Stiles doesn’t have an alpha. What Stiles has is the world’s most extensive collection of bento boxes, wrist guards, and a really good electric blanket. If Stiles needs to talk, he has the best sports psychologist in California on speed dial. If Stiles needs protection, he has mace on his key chain and the number of the team’s head of security. If Stiles needs to feel appreciated he can read fan mail. If Stiles is feeling anxious, he’s got a sweatshirt of Scott’s he keeps in a vacuum sealed bag that smells like comfort and friendship and caring. Stiles is a champion, and champions figure things out. 

Stiles is going to figure out the Loups too. He’s going to work so hard and lead them to the championship cup and get everything he’s ever wanted. When they win it won’t matter that he has an ugly tan line from his wrist guard that will probably be there his entire life. It won’t matter than Not-His-Derek and Kate Argent have a kid that’s almost four or something. When they win, Stiles is finally going to be a good omega. Maybe not for an alpha that loves him, but for the fans. And that’s close enough.


	7. Easy Does... Nothing

The night before Stiles’ first practice with the team he takes some melatonin and goes to bed at eight. The next morning he wakes up two hours before one of his new teammates is supposed to pick him up and has a carefully proportioned plate of tofu and half a grapefruit with a kale smoothie. Then Stiles throws in a load of laundry and puts throws on his team warm up pants over his shorts. His bag is already packed and ready to go by the front door next to his street shoes. Lastly, Stiles grabs two bottles of water and a sports drink from his fridge and puts them in the outside pocket of his bag. His phone buzzes shortly after and Stiles opens the front door of his condo to see a good-looking alpha with an easy smile standing on his steps wearing Loups warm ups. 

“It’s so good to meet you, man!” The alpha says, reaching out a hand, obviously recognizing Stiles from the press. “I’m Danny Mahealani. I’m an alpha on the team. They sent me over to take you to the studio today.” 

“Thank you.” Stiles tries to smile back, but he’s feeling too tense for it to reach his eyes. Stiles bends down to pick up his gym bag, surreptitiously sniffing at his new teammate. Danny smells open and light, like crisp spring air- not threatening. He looks up at the alphas expectant face again and tries to smile for real this time. 

“My truck is this way.” Danny says, grinning back as they climb into the alpha’s vehicle. “The team is really excited to meet you. We’ve got six rookies this season, but you’re the only omega. We couldn’t believe we actually got you in the draft. You have some badass moves, man!”

Stiles nods in thanks. He knows he’s the only rookie omega for the Loups this year. For every four alphas needed on a OANDL team they need just one omega. Getting a contract is insanely competitive for an omega and Stiles has worked hard. 

Danny continues to chatter on easily and Stiles finds himself warming up to this large, affable alpha. Danny changes the radio station often and sings along, out of tune and shameless, and Stiles welcomes the distraction. 

Once, Danny leans over, closer to Stiles to retrieve his phone from where it had fallen on Stiles’ seat, and he pauses, his eyes squinting just a bit. “Have you been at the Hales’?” Danny asks. 

“Like the owners?” Stiles goes still as a deer who senses danger in the woods. “No, I just got in like two days ago. Why?”

Danny straightens quickly, shaking his head. “Never mind.” He says, smiling again.

Stiles frowns, uneasy at the question. He tries to brush it off and make a joke. “What? Do I smell funny?” He asks. 

“Not funny,” Danny answers, clearly in earnest. “Just... you don’t smell like other omegas on the team, you know?”

“Uh- no?” Stiles says, confused. 

“It’s just I expected you to smell more like the alphas from your juniors team.” Danny explains. “I mean, you’re not mated- right?” 

“No.” Stiles says, stiffly. “Why would I smell like the alphas on me last team, though?” 

Danny shrugs, “I don’t know. The omegas on the Loups smell like us because we spend so much time together.”

Stiles tries not to grimace. “The only time the alphas on my juniors team got anywhere near me was during stunting. It really wasn’t enough to smell like them... thank God.”

Danny grins quickly, “I see. You look like the type who likes his space.”

Stiles scowls at the alpha’s laugh, “I’m just used to it.” He tries to explain. 

“I’ll make sure the guys keep their hands to themselves,” Danny laughs, as he turns into the studio’s parking lot. “But no promises. We’re a team. That makes us family.” 

Stiles inwardly grimaces at the idea of getting alpha-handled, but allows Danny to lead him into a glorious studio with tall windows and vast black spring floor. All over Stiles’ new teammates sit or stand, stretching, drinking coffee, and laughing together. The mated ones are obvious- their hands free from wrist guards, but a handful of the dancers are wearing them tightly fastened in place. Stiles looks over and notices that Danny has a slim teal one wrapped around his left wrist. 

Danny catches his eye and misinterprets his look of unease for confusion. “Feel free to start stretching out,” He offers with a smile, pulling off his warm ups. “If you need a locker room, there’s one for omegas down the hall to the right.” 

Nearly ever other dancer has already stripped down to their shorts or tights and tank tops, with some going shirtless all together, but Stiles can’t help feeling a bit self-conscious as he pulls down his warm up pants and sits down on the studio floor to put on his shoes. He drops one of them in his nervousness as team members start coming up to them and introducing themselves to him with loud voices and large white smiles. 

A tall, blonde alpha with a camo wrist guard sidles up the him and Danny with a broad smirk. “You must be the new meat, huh?” the alpha crouches down to Stiles, a little too close for comfort. Stiles glances over at Danny, who just smiles back encouragingly- which is completely useless. The larger blonde alpha sticks out his hand, “I’m Jackson.” 

“Stiles,” Stiles says, grasping the alpha’s hand for a fraction of a second before quickly letting go.

“I know,” Jackson grins down at Stiles again, “You look tense, Stiles,” he says teasingly, “worried we’re going to bite?”

Stiles makes a face and stands up abruptly, trying to keep the look of irritation off his face and probably failing. “Do you bite?” he asks through slightly gritted teeth. 

“Only if you ask nicely,” Jackson drawls back, peering up at him through long lashes. Danny laughs and swats at the other alpha playfully. 

“Jackson, I need you to go get that case of water from the loading dock.” A steel, cold voice permeates through Stiles’ skin from over his shoulder and he can’t help but shiver, just a bit at the unexpected sound. 

All three dancers look over to it’s source and there, standing shirtless in a pair of warm up pants is team captain, Derek Hale. Derek is not quite glaring down at Jackson, his eyes dark and impassive. Jesus Christ, everything about this man screams alpha. Stiles is sure the captain has at least fifty pounds of muscle on him, and the way Derek holds his chest and shoulders, graceful and confident belies the hidden power and potential danger behind his alpha strength. He’s looking down at Jackson with such icy dominance, Stiles has the oddest impulse to bare his own neck and submit to this stranger like a pansy. 

“Have one of the interns do it.” Jackson says, avoiding Derek’s eyes, looking sulky. 

“I don’t have an intern who is harassing my omega rookie.” Derek says back stonily. “Go.”

Jackson shoots his captain a dirty look, but clambers to his feet and takes off in the direction of the doors. Derek (Not-His-Derek- SO-Not-His-Derek,) turns back to Stiles and reaches out his left hand. Stiles looks down the enormous fingers almost dumbly. Derek is wearing a platinum wedding ring and a wrist guard. Stiles has never seen that combination before. He shakes Derek’s hand, meaning to be as quick as he was with Jackson, but Derek holds on, and his fingers are so enormous Stiles can’t seem to find his way out of the grip.

“I’m Derek Hale.” Derek says, leaning in far closer to Stiles than Stiles would like. “I’m your team captain. Welcome to Beacon Hills.” 

“Uh.” Stiles says brilliantly, still trying to figure out a way to maneuver out of the alpha’s grip without being obvious or having a heart attack. “Thanks.”

“How have your first few days been?” Derek asks, staring down unblinkingly into Stiles’ eyes. “Do you need anything for your condo?”

“Uh.” Stiles repeats. “I think I’m good.” 

Derek nods, finally letting go of Stiles’ hand, seemingly placated. Stiles immediately takes a step back from this brick wall posing as an alpha. “If you need anything at all, or you need to talk about anything, please come to me.” Derek says in a low rumble. “I’m your captain and I’m here if you need me.”

“I’m good.” Stiles repeats, bending over to grab his water bottle. Jesus, he needs something to do with his hands- like wash Derek’s scent off them before his subconscious gets any ideas.


	8. Stupid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ((Derek is in real time- Stiles is flashbacks))

Derek’s not stupid- not really anyways. He’s just... short sighted. Or possibly blind. Or just really, really stupid. 

Derek was eight when the S came in. Before then, his parents had spent eight years thinking he might be some kind of biological sport- like some freak of nature. A beta born to the Hales? Impossible. He doesn’t remember being particularly relieved when the S had come in one morning in October- he almost didn’t believe it. Somewhere in those eight years, Derek had come to think of himself as a beta- someone without a mate. Sure, the S had shown up, but it was eight years late and it probably didn’t mean anything. He’d shown his astonished parents and rubbed it in Laura’s stupid face, and put on a wrist guard and forgotten about it. Anyways, it stayed just an S for a long time after that and what real omega has just an S for a name? 

By the time Derek met Kate the S had progressed to an underwhelming S-T-I; which- in Derek’s opinion did not a name make. Derek should have known better than to listen to himself. Both Laura and Cora had tried to tell him. They had really tried. 

“Please don’t do this, Derek,” Laura had said, her beautiful green eyes dark and velveteen with worry. “You don’t understand- you don’t. Please don’t marry her, Derek. I know you don’t see it now but you’re hurting someone. And this will kill you later. Please, Derek.”

Of course Derek had been stupid and willful. Derek had even gotten offended that his sister dare try to tell him what to do with his own life. 

“I don’t see what big deal is, Laura!” He’d stormed at her. “It’s three fucking letters. It’s like the lamest tattoo ever- not my fucking destiny or something! I love Kate! We’re going to have a baby. I don’t want to hear anymore about it!” 

And Laura had cried then. The night before his wedding and Laura had cried in the bad way. He’d felt infinitely sorry for making his sister cry, but he hadn’t understood why she was so upset. What exactly did she think he was missing out on?

She was right. He hadn’t understood. He hadn’t known. Now whenever he remembers Laura crying the night before his wedding and pleading with him to reconsider he can’t help but remember his own tears that first night Stiles had backed his way out of Derek’s kitchen. He can’t help but think of the way he’d pleaded with Stiles to reconsider. 

When Devon was about eighteen months old Derek had woken up one morning and gone to shower. He had taken off his wrist guard and looked down. S-T-I was now S-T-I-L-E. What the hell kind of name was that? Pure gibberish. Sure, Kate wasn’t perfect but he’d never felt more validated in his life. 

Two days later Laura emailed him the A/O Junior Nationals’ results.


	9. Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger

Training camp is over and Stiles is good. He’s ‘getting the job done and then some.’ Stiles is good. Over the last two years Stiles has repeated that simple phrase like a mantra in his head over and over. Sometimes he goes to sleep at night and dreams about it. Stiles is good. Josey had always called Stiles his ‘star.’ The sherif had always called Stiles ‘awesome.’ The media had always called Stiles ‘stunning’ or ‘meticulous’ or ‘a prodigy.’ If Stiles had an alpha, that alpha might call Stiles ‘good.’ But Stiles doesn’t have an alpha, so he tells himself that he’s good. Stiles’ own opinion is probably more important than any alpha’s anyways. 

Stiles doesn’t have an alpha so it doesn’t matter that over the past two years he’s become a pretty shit omega in every way except his dancing. At Josey’s studio, Stiles had been team captain and worn the illustrious ‘C’ on his warm up jacket since he was fifteen. Stiles had been a good captain. He had grown up in the studio and instinctively understood dance and movement and sport in a way only someone born into it can. Stiles had been the top scorer on the team since he was fifteen and the top scorer in the country since seventeen. Outside of Joesy or Manes, Stiles word had been law with the team. Omegas are good dancers. They’re good flyers and they are what draw the crowds, but omegas are rarely team captains, generally preferring to allow the alphas to be a buffer between them and the world. But Stiles doesn’t have an alpha, so he just got used to calling his own shots and taking his own hits. Nobody ever shielded Stiles. Nobody ever stood with him either. 

Now Stiles is a rookie in the pros and he still doesn’t have an alpha but he has a captain. Stiles finds he isn’t used to taking orders and it’s uncomfortable. Instinct tells him in a sort of raw, aching way to submit, to lower his eyes, bare his neck, and try to look appealing before this perfect specimen of the dominant gender, but fuck instinct. Instinct also keeps telling him that Not-His-Derek-but-Yes-His-Captain is actually his Derek and that is just a big fat lie. Objectively, Derek is probably a good captain. He is encouraging and firm. He’s hard working. Derek is always pushing the team to be better, to be more united. He pays special attention to the rookies and makes them feel welcome, part of the team. Stiles bristles and rebels against every word that comes out of the alpha’s stupidly attractive lips. Stiles resents even the simplest and most reasonable words of direction or advice from his new captain. When Derek addresses the team Stiles stares directly into the alpha’s dark eyes unblinkingly, and doesn’t look away even when the captain notices and sends him a questioning look. Everything in Stiles is drawing him towards his alpha, tells him to try to make the larger dancer happy, to do what he wants. Stiles doesn’t take orders from anyone- not even his own cursed body. Anyways, Derek doesn’t seem to notice his silent rebellion. Why would he?

Stiles is quiet most of the time, likes to keep to himself, likes to work hard, but Stiles has also taken to alpha-ing the shit out of the other omegas on his team- in his own way. A curly-haired omega named, Isaac is Derek’s stunting partner for most of their practices, and Stiles knows the way he dances well. Isaac has been pro for three years now. There are eight other omegas on the team besides him and Stiles, and Stiles knows all of their work inside and out. Stiles spent hours on Youtube when he was signed to the Loups researching every dancer in the company. Now, Stiles finds himself unable to stop slowly and methodically showing up every omega on the team, silently, yet obviously making his dominance known. When Derek throws Isaac up in a lift, Stiles makes his partner throw him higher. When one of the omegas sticks a clean landing, Stiles is even cleaner. If one of them stays a half hour late to practice extra, Stiles stays an hour. Nobody works harder than Stiles and nobody works cleaner. Nobody keeps to himself more. 

Stiles’ stunting partner is a large alpha with good handling skills and even better rhythm, named Boyd. The solid alpha wears a dark wrist guard but he smells like warm sugar and Erica Reyes. He has a nice smile and Stiles finds himself trusting his partner more and more as training camp goes on. Boyd never questions Stiles when Stiles pushes him to throw him higher, to do increasingly daring and dangerous stunts. Boyd doesn’t freak out when Stiles takes a fall. He doesn’t catalogue Stiles’ bruises and he doesn’t lift him like he’s going to break. Stiles likes that. He starts exclusively stunting with Boyd. He also starts warming up with him in the mornings and asking him to help him stretch out. Boyd has large hands and he knows how to apply just the right amount of pressure to leave Stiles groaning and trying to breathe through a particularly painful stretch on the floor. More often than not the two of them end up laughing at the cow noises Stiles makes. Derek watches them with an inscrutable expression from across the studio. Whenever Boyd and Stiles stunt or do lifts, Derek stops whatever he’s doing and watches them keenly. Stiles ignores him and laughs, telling Boyd to not be such a pussy and throw him higher. 

One night after practice Stiles sees Derek herd Boyd off the corner of the studio, his dark eyes intense and determined. Boyd goes easily, and Stiles sees Derek crowd the other alpha in, his chiseled arms across his chest, clearly in the kind of stance Stiles has seen alphas use when they’re trying to dominate another alpha. Boyd is respectful to his captain, but soon they’re talking in increasingly tense, low voices, gesturing in short, aggressive movements. Stiles heads to the omega locker room, but stays after a little, hiding out until he can catch up with Boyd in the parking lot. 

“What did the captain want?” Stiles asks, trying to sound casual.

Boyd smiles down at him a little ruefully. “Derek is worried that I’m being too rough with you.”

Stiles frowns. “Where did he get that idea?”

Boyd laughs a little now, “Probably because you look like a PSA for domestic violence.” 

Stiles is indignant. “I bruise easily! You’re not being too rough. If anything, you can go harder. I’m not going to get any better if we don’t push it.”

Boyd shakes his head. “I know, but he may have a point. I’m a little worried your pain receptors don’t work. And anyways, I’m the alpha. I should know when too much is too much.”

Stiles snarls at this. “Like I don’t know how to handle my own body? I know how to train, Boyd. If Derek had a problem he should have talked to me.” 

Boyd pats Stiles on the back. “It’s no big deal, Stiles. Derek probably just doesn’t want you injured before the season even begins.”

“I’m not going to get injured.” Stiles makes a face. “I’m going to win.”

Boyd laughs. “Are you sure you’re not an alpha? You’re the most aggressive dancer I’ve ever met.”

Stiles grins back cheekily, “I’m also the best dancer you’ll ever meet, Boyd. I’m good. And I’m going to get even better. I won’t get injured. Don’t worry about it.”


	10. The Boyd Identity

They win their first pre-season competition in Denver, but just barely. Almost eight years ago Stiles had watched the national broadcast of a competition and bragged with childish naivete that his turn-out would one day best Erica Reyes’s. Now Stiles is stunting on national television with the last alpha partner Erica had before she retired, and his turn-out is the best in the league. The press is nuts for him. After the competition they keep him longer for interviews than anyone but Derek. 

The solemn captain of the Loups talks with a different group of reporters, too far down from Stiles to hear anything Derek is saying, but that’s more than okay because Stiles has enough press to deal with as it is. Stiles has been in PR training since he was 13, and he is no longer the sullen teenager who is easily disarmed by the press. Stiles smiles broadly and deflects uncomfortable questions about his gender or his love life with casual humor. It’s not all an act- Stiles is genuinely grateful for his fans and his supporters and Stiles loves the sport, but he’s also tired and he just wants to go back to the hotel room and pass out for the night. 

Stiles shares a hotel room with Boyd while they are at away competitions and yeah- that’s a little scandalous, but the reality is Boyd is tidy, never asks Stiles stupid personal questions, and smells like Erica so much Stiles can’t help but safe around him. They sit on their separate double beds most nights in relative silence, Boyd texting Erica, and Stiles reviewing clips of their competition online. The coaches had initially wanted Stiles to room with one of the other omegas on the team, but Stiles isn’t very popular with them so in the end they give in. At night Stiles lays in his bed in the dark, positive he smells like warm sugar and Erica too by now. It’s not a bad scent, but it’s not the right one either. Stiles’ hotel sheets are always too rough against his skin and the lights always feel too harsh. More often than not Stiles is woken up in the middle of the night by the sounds of sirens and traffic outside the hotel. When Stiles does sleep he dreams he is adrift in endless water. In the dream he keeps searching for his dance trophies and medals, for the keys to his condo, or for his car, but he can’t find them and he’s just all alone with nothing to show for himself and nobody to call. When Stiles wakes up he wonders if it’s illegal to get a tattoo over your mate’s name. 

The only thing Stiles doesn’t like about Boyd is how close he is to Derek and the Hale family in general. Tatiana Hale was one of Boyd’s coaches when he was young, and Boyd came up in the same studio as Laura and Derek. Stiles has seen pictures of Derek and Boyd on Boyd’s phone from seasons and performances past and he knows that Boyd had been best man in Derek’s wedding. Sometimes Derek and Boyd pull up together for practice in Derek’s Camaro, both holding to-go mugs of Coffee. Stiles knows his dance partner is always deferential to the captain, despite their obvious closeness, but lately it feels like Derek’s been shorter and shorter with Boyd during practice. After one particularly stinging exchange ends with Derek walking out of the studio and looking like he’s about to huff and puff and blow something down, Stiles raises an eyebrow at Boyd.

“Who pissed in his Wheaties this morning?” He asks. 

Boyd smiles a little, shaking his head. “Derek’s just being his usual open and engaging self.”

Stiles feigns disinterest. “Well he needs to get laid or some shit...” he shrugs. “Dude has a wife.”

Boyd snorts. “He needs to back the fuck off and relax.” the larger man mutters. “He’s going to give himself a stroke.” 

Stiles frowns. “The season has been going pretty well.”

Boyd shrugs, “Don’t look at me. He’s been acting like a constipated little bitch since I started rooming with you. Doesn’t think it sends the right message or some bullshit like that.” 

Stiles stares up at Boyd, his eyes flashing. “What?!” He exclaims. “Is that what Derek said?!”

Boyd shrugs again in a totally unhelpful way. “His family are part owners. Maybe he’s worried about PR or something. I’m not sure why he would be, though. His mom is pretty liberal.”

Stiles can feel himself growing hot and red in the face. He opens his mouth to say something and then realizes Boyd isn’t who he wants to say it to. Stiles whirls around, not caring who on the team sees him and stomps off to where he saw Derek disappear into the alpha locker room. Stiles charges in with little regard for where he’s headed. Fortunately the room is empty save for Derek with a towel wrapped around his waist, bent over his gym bag.

“Hey!” Stiles barks sharply and Derek stares at him in surprise. “What the hell are you thinking?!”

Derek blinks a few times before saying in an maddeningly calm voice, “Can I help you Stiles?” 

“Why the hell are you giving Boyd shit about living with me?” Stiles spits angrily. “What do you care? The coaches said it was fine- I got it cleared.” 

Derek blinks down at Stiles again, looking at him closely. “Are you here to defend your alpha partner to me?” Derek asks and it’s not so much mocking as it is confusion.

“No!” Stiles quips back. “I’m here to tell you to butt the hell out. You’re my captain- not my boss. This has nothing to do with you so get the hell off Boyd’s back. It’s none of your business who I sleep with!” 

It’s a little much- probably more provocative than it really needed to be, but Derek Hale has been pissing Stiles off since he married Kate when Stiles was seventeen, and now’s just the first legitimate reason Stiles has had to tell him off. 

When Stiles stormed into the alpha locker room he wasn’t sure if he was looking for a reaction or and apology or just some masochistic form of drama, but Derek seemed to be taking it all in stride- until now. At these last words of Stiles’ something like a feral growl emanates from deep inside the captain’s broad, bare chest and all of a Derek is coming at Stiles, naked, his towel forgotten on the floor, with murder in his eyes. And Stiles isn’t even smart enough to be scared. Stiles bares his teeth back, instead of his throat like a good omega, and digs his heels in. He keeps contemptuously glaring back at Derek even as the larger man slams him into the wall, one enormous hand gripping the back of Stiles’ neck tightly. Derek’s face is centimeters away from his own and the captain’s breath is hitting his skin, so close, his scent filling Stiles head. 

“Listen to me, Stilinski-” Derek hisses, low and furious. “I know what you think of me. Don’t think I haven’t seen the eye rolls and the sarcastic faces when I speak to the team- but I AM your captain whether you like it or not! I WILL make decisions about what is best for this team, and you WILL obey me. Contrary to what everyone’s been telling you your entire life, this sport does not revolve around you. Now that you’re pro you’re going to have to consider that what you do effects other people! I know you’re used to everyone giving you exactly what you want, when you want it, but it’s not always going to be that way- not on my team!”

Stiles is shaking under Derek’s iron grip- possibly violently. He can feel his muscles straining under his skin, begging to submit, to bow his neck, to beg his alpha for forgiveness, to make this right. For one absolutely horrific moment Stiles is positive he’s about to cry. But then Stiles’ brain starts to come back online again and it’s brought his best friend with it- anger. THIS Derek is not his alpha. Stiles doesn’t have an alpha. Stiles probably will never have an alpha. He’s somewhat famous now and it’s not like his name is like a common thing. If Stiles’ real alpha wanted him he would have found him by now, and Stiles wouldn’t be here arguing with his naked team captain over rooming with Boyd. 

This Derek knows nothing about Stiles getting what he wants when he wants it. This Derek knows nothing about what Stiles really wants. 

Stiles feels himself still, stop shaking, and grow cold under Derek’s rough grip. He looks up at his team captain, suddenly calm and detached. “Next time just say that to me, Derek. Don’t take this out on Boyd.” 

Stiles shrugs out of Derek’s grasp and ducks under the alpha’s arms, turning and walking out of the locker room.


	11. Statue

Sometimes Stiles wonders. Is it normal to still be convinced that someone who is obviously not your alpha is your alpha? And, in the second part of this two part question: is it normal to also want to kill that person? 

It’s weird. It feels weird. Stiles doesn’t have a temper. Stiles has never actively hated anyone in his entire life. Stiles has never been close enough to anyone before to feel anything other than vague annoyance. Stiles has never cared enough about any one person other than his coaches to brood over their words. Stiles has priorities. Stiles cares about dance and his win record and the league. Stiles knows about wanting things. Stiles wanted to go pro- he did. Stiles wanted to pay his dad’s mortgage off- he did. Stiles wanted to buy a beachfront condo with enough extra bedrooms to host his dad and Scott at some point- he did. And Stiles still has things he wants. Stiles wants to represent his country at the Olympics. Stiles wants be the highest paid omega athlete in history- for the principal of the thing. Stiles wants to perform better than anyone every time he goes out on the floor. Theoretically, everything Stiles wants is within his grasp. Stiles is a champion. Champions don’t do unrequited. Champions don’t have secret feelings for their team captains. Champions don’t develop vaguely homicidal desires out of nowhere for the same said captains. No, champions cut even more carbs out of their diets and work harder. Champions don’t let themselves feel loneliness when they could be feeling the burn from a truly wicked workout. 

Stiles has always liked routine. He can’t control what stupid name is written on his wrist but he can hire another trainer and clock more hours at the gym. Somewhere in the back of his mind Stiles thinks if he works hard enough he’ll eventually die of a heart attack and he won’t have to worry about the inevitably retiring from being a pro athlete and going home to an empty luxury beachfront condo for the rest of his life. Biologically speaking, Stiles knows he should want his mate, a knot on tap, some kids, and the life long security of a nest that smells like his Derek, but Stiles finds if he runs his days right, by the time the sun goes down all he wants is a shower. 

His rookie season progresses and Stiles knows he’s being good. His meal plan is down to the lowest calorie intake he’s ever been at and he isn’t even tempted to cheat on his diet. Stiles’ cheekbones are artful and high. He’s carved out of marble and his eyes look huge and heavy, like something out of a painting. There are whole blogs devoted to pictures of his ‘classical omega style.’ Stiles knows that he was probably born average-looking, maybe even a goofy average, but Stiles wants to be beautiful for the team so he cuts and carves his diet and his workout until he’s flawless, beyond reproach. Stiles’ alpha doesn’t want him, but if he works hard enough, is good enough, the OANDL judges will. And anyways, if Stiles exhausts himself at the gym he doesn’t need an alpha to gentle him to sleep at night. He hasn’t even had the energy to jack off in months. 

Stiles changes the way he grooms too. Now all of Stiles clothes are washed in this special soap he ordered online, and he’s replaced all his usual shampoos and after-shaves. He gets really into it, banishing all scents from everything he touches, from the furniture to his body lotion. Now, thanks to cosmetic science, Stiles is sure he doesn’t smell like Boyd and Erica anymore. Stiles doesn’t really smell like anything, at least he hopes he doesn’t. Omegas naturally sweat less than bets and alphas, but lately Stiles has been breaking out in these strange cold sweats without notice. He’ll be sitting at dinner with the team, or wake up in the morning and find himself drenched through and trembling a little. Stiles doesn’t think anybody notices- he’s careful, but he catches Derek snarling low at the nutritionist one morning, and they end up adding more lean proteins to Stiles’ food plan. Stiles wants to talk to Derek about meddling in his life, but he’s so tired all the time now, and everyone’s voices sound so loud. Stiles starts working out shirtless all the time. He can’t stand the feeling of cloth on his skin. No matter how high the thread count his sheets always feel itchy and rough. Stiles is even tempted these days to take off his wrist guard, but every time he goes to remove it he panics. In the end he tells Boyd he has a head cold and ends up sitting in the shower in his condo for hours most nights.


	12. Ball... Dropped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ((There is No Arizona))  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Bm9mLKkIek

Oh, the best laid plans of mice and Stiles... Of course it all comes to a very ugly, very mortifying head in an empty conference room in the Wynn Las Vegas. Of course it does.

_“May, June, July, she wonders why/ She's still waiting, she'll keep waiting 'cause/ There is no Arizona/ No Painted Desert, no Sedona/ If there was a Grand Canyon/ She could fill it up with the lies he's told her/ But they don't exist, those dreams he sold her/ She'll wake up and find/ There is no Arizona...”_

Stiles really fucking hates country music, but in this part of the country every other bleeding station has a twang to it. Jaime O’Neal’s low, bawdy voice croons from the casino’s boom box and fills the room the manager opened when Stiles asked for a practice space. It’s going on eleven and Stiles technically has curfew, but he can’t sleep. The team arrived off the chartered private flight two hours ago and they have a competition tomorrow, but relaxing enough to drift off to sleep is not something Stiles is doing well these days. It’s hell the way Stiles can micro- manage his diets and his workouts and still have no control over his ability to actually sleep. He fucking hates Las Vegas too. There is too much noise, too many strange, frightening scents, and too many gaudy lights. Stiles kept his sunglasses on even when they entered the casino’s lobby, and now he has only a third of the conference room’s lights on. His skin is both too hot and too cold all the time these days and he could barely sit still for the short flight from Beacon Hills. Derek had eyed him suspiciously from where the massive alpha had parked himself across the row from Stiles and wordlessly handed him a protein bar. Stiles hadn’t even had the energy to glare back properly.

He’s dancing freestyle now in a way he hasn’t been able to in a long time, letting the cloying notes fill his limbs and float out in his extentions. The conference room is a haze of ivory walls and red carpet as he throws himself into every movement, every leap. He’s rough with his body, beating himself against the flow of the melody and tangling his muscles around the beats. He works with intensity, running himself with a pace not even Boyd will let him go. Stiles isn’t new to this- he knows his body and he’s been hydrating all day. He’ll be fine to compete tomorrow. The worst that can happen, Stiles thinks, is a little rug burn.

So of course, all of a sudden the auspicious decor is swirling around him and Stiles can no longer feel the floor. There is only pain, sharp and too big and frightening penetrating his head and shooting down into his gut. Stiles feels gravity bitch slapping him soundly as he falls to the floor mid-leap, one hand grabbing his stomach reflexively and the other yanking at his forehead. He doesn’t know what happens next, but some reptilian part of Stiles’ omega brain is traitorously grateful it’s out of his hands.

Stiles opens his eyes and immediately regrets it. The light is too intense and everything is all too much. Then he realizes what he’s looking at and Stiles regrets coming back to consciousness at all. Derek, Boyd, and one of the team physicians are all staring at him intently and- wow, Derek’s face is really too close to him. Stiles opens his mouth to voice a complaint about this, and all that comes out is some weird cow moan and this time it’s really not funny. He shuts his mouth again and settles for what he hopes is a get-away-from-me-you-married-shit glare.

 “Stiles!” Derek says, reaching down to touch his face. Clearly Stiles is not a telepath. Derek looks over at the physician, his dark brows knitted together in worry. “Is he okay?”

The doctor is checking Stiles’ pulse, looking gave. “How do you feel, Mr. Stilinski?” He asks.

“Uh.” Stiles swallows, trying to speak in a voice that preserves what little dignity he has left. His head is in his captain’s lap right now and there may be no coming back from that. “Everything’s bright...” His words sound slightly slurred and a little weak.

The doctor frowns at Derek, “When’s the last time he ate?”

“Um,” Derek says, “he ate almost all of his risotto on the plane and then he had a protein bar.”

Stiles makes a face at his stalker captain. “I’m cold.” He didn’t mean to say that aloud.

The doctor nods as if this is the most natural thing in the word and Derek hurries to take his team jacket off and drape it around Stiles shoulders. Stiles frowns again. He doesn’t want to smell like stupid Hale.

“How have you been sleeping over the last few months, Mr. Stilinski?” The doctor asks.

Derek looks down at Stiles, hard. “Tell him the truth.” He orders.

Stiles almost succeeds in rolling his eyes. “Uh... not great.”

“Have you noticed an increased sensitivity to fabrics, noise, any simulation?” The doctor says this like he’s the telepath.

Stiles stares back at him. “No.” He says, and it’s obvious he’s not referring to the doctor’s question. “No. I am not having a drop. I’m fine.” Stiles’ breath is coming in fast now, and Boyd lays a concerned hand on his arm. Stiles finches away from it and tries to get up, his panic mounting. “I’m fine. I promise. I’m just low on protein. I’m not having a drop! I’m not-“

Stiles sounds like he’s almost pleading now and Derek makes a deep, soothing noise. Stiles feels his captain’s impossibly big arms wrapping around him, stilling his tremors and infusing Stiles' inhales with his deep, earthy scent. Stiles stops struggling against the new solid warmth surrounding him but he still looks up at the team physician, shaking his head.

“It’s okay, Mr. Stilinski.” The doctor says, and really- fuck him. “An omega drop is certainly not unheard of for omegas undergoing a great deal of stress. I’ve seen it in professional athletes before. All the time on the road takes a toll on omega biology.”

Stiles feels his face scrunching up unhappily, and he wants to hide in against Derek’s chest for some ungodly reason. He’d heard about this happening before, but he always figured it only happened to weak omegas. Stiles had never even considered he might go into a drop one day.

“Are you unmated, Mr. Stilinski?” The doctor asks quietly.

Stiles shoots him a sharp look. “Of course I’m unmated!” He snaps.

Derek looks even more funereal than usual. “Stiles isn’t mated.” He confirms. Derek pauses, his eyes clouding. “I’m- I’m the alpha most responsible for him right now. I’m closest.”

“That’s Boyd, d-bag!” Stiles snarls with as much irritation as he can muster without making the room spin.

The doctor looks confused. “I was under the impression you’re engaged.” He says to Boyd.

Boyd puts his large palm on Stiles’ arm again. “I am.” He says. “But I’m here for Stiles. He’s my partner on the floor.”

Derek looks intensely at Boyd, his voice dropping low. “No- I’m responsible for him. I need to do this.”

“Nobody needs to do anything.” Stiles whines, looking frantically from the doctor to Derek to Boyd and back again. “I’m good. I promise. I’ll... I’ll eat more red meat. I’m good.”

“Mr. Stilinski, I’ve been practicing omega medicine for forty years and you are experiencing the most textbook omega drop I have yet to encounter.” The doctor says this sternly. “That means your needs as an omega are being neglected so drastically that your body is literally forcing you to accept help. Mr. Hale is a more than competent and I am putting you under his care, effective immediately. If you want to continue your professional career I would suggest you stop fighting your own biology and listen to your captain.”

Stiles freezes when he hears the doctor mention his career. Stiles doesn’t have an alpha- still doesn’t think he needs one, even if his traitorous body seems to think so. All Stiles has left is his dream- his dancing, the league. He looks up at Derek warily.

Derek wraps his arms around Stiles even tighter and looks at the team physician intently. “What do I need to do?”

The doctor shuffles through his papers. “Mr. Stilinski just needs prolonged exposure to your scent. He’s not grounded right now, and his biology is very insecure about it. His body is reacting out of fear that he isn’t safe or protected. Omegas need to feel secure or they go into survival mode. Make sure he eats and is getting to bed on time. His body chemicals will balance out more if he’s not under chronic stress.”

“I’m not a child.” Stiles complains. “I can take care of myself.”

Derek apparently isn’t listening because he’s wrapped Stiles up in his arms and is carrying him like some kind of purse dog out of the conference room. 

“Grab your bags out of Stiles’ room.” He tells Boyd. “I’ll room with him from here on out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so very much for your feedback- it is well and truly appreciated. I'm taking a break right now from my original novel and was inspired to write this scenario after reading aohatsu's fic. This fic is an exercise in speed/free writing for me. I write the chapters in one take and post them immediately without re-reading or editing. I spot edit some things after if they really bug me. In aohatsu's original fic the characters are hockey players, but because this is a speed written fic I substituted hockey (a sport I know nothing about,) for my sport of choice. The depictions of the dance world here are complete bullshit and are what I imagine dance would be like if it was run like the NHL. The diets and training are taken from real life experience though. Again- thank you so much. Your comments have become like meth to me.


	13. Alpha Up

“Of course I feel protective of him. He’s the youngest dancer on my team.”

Stiles finds himself slowly awakening at the sound of his captain’s low voice floating over him. Stiles refuses to open his eyes or move. Everything hurts.

“Yeah. I know. He’s eight years younger than you, Derek. Don’t you think that’s a little interesting?” That’s Boyd now. His voice is a little louder than Derek’s and Stiles hears Derek shush him in disapproval.

“It’s not like that, Boyd. It can’t be like that and you know why so it’s not like that.” Derek’s voice is tight and final.

“Derek- you’re my captain and my best friend.” Boyd says, and he sounds more assertive than Stiles has ever heard him. “My entire life I’ve looked up to you- in the studio, with your family, and as a captain. You’ve always been the best man I know, but you’re being a shitty alpha and now is not the time to play around. We go to play offs in two weeks and Stiles isn’t the only one who looks like he’s been hit with a goddamn truck.”

“I’m not having a problem with the other rookies-“ Derek starts, sounding tired.

“No- you’re a good alpha to the other rookies.” Boyd agrees. “And I know we have the strongest alpha rookies in the league because of you- don’t think I don’t know that. But you’re shit with Stiles. You either neglect him or alpha out to the extreme on him and I’ve never seen you like that with someone you’re supposed to be an alpha to, Derek.”

“Stiles doesn’t need an alpha in his life in any capacity- he tells anyone who’ll listen that. What he needs is a fucking babysitter.” Derek snaps, but his voice lacks any true venom. “He’s not in a drop because of me, Boyd. I’ll admit I haven’t helped, but he’s in this mess because he takes everything too far. He’s got the trainers and the nutritionists wrapped around his finger and nobody ever tells him no or forces him to take a break.”

“Because that’s his alpha’s job, Derek!” Boyd sighs, pausing. “How did you know?”

“Hm?”

“How did you know Stiles had collapsed in the conference room?” Boyd clarifies. “He wasn’t even supposed to be out at that time.”

“I could smell his distress scent.” Derek says. “I’m surprised you couldn’t. His scent has been really strong since he went into the drop.”

“Why didn’t you try to stop this then?” Boyd demands. “If you knew he was going into a drop!”

“I didn’t really know!” Derek insists. “He always kind of smells...”

“Sad.” Boyd finishes for him. “He’s smelled like that since he got here.”

“Yeah.” Derek sighs and he sounds defeated. “I’m going to get him well, Boyd. He’ll be sleeping across the room from me- I’ll be able to hear him if he gets worse. The doc said he’ll be good to compete tomorrow if he gets enough rest tonight.”

“Did you call Laura?”

A pause and then, reluctantly, “Yes.”

“And what did she say?”

“She said I’m being a shitty alpha.”

“She loves you. She just wants you to be happy.” Boyd says softly.

“I am happy.” Derek says, his tone effectively cutting off the conversation. “I’m really happy. But I’ll be happier when we win the cup this year and we need Stiles healthy for that.”

Stiles didn’t want to hear anymore after that. Derek was happy. Stiles has no reason to doubt that. He and Kate certainly look like a matched pair in all the pictures he’d seen. Winning would make Derek happier and it’s the only thing that would make Stiles even feel happiness at all. Boyd is being too hard on Derek- and so is Stiles if he’s willing to admit it. It’s not Derek’s fault he isn’t Stiles soulmate. It’s not Derek’s fault Stiles wants his mate so badly he’s willing to make up delusions in his mind about his team captain. This is Stiles’ fault and he needs to stop punishing Derek for it. Stiles is a champion and champions do not sew seeds of discourse in their teams over school boy crushes.

The next day Stiles lands the most complex stunts performed at the competition with perfect accuracy. He makes it look easy. The Loups win and the smile on Derek’s face makes it worth it- even when Stiles has to run off quietly before he talks to the media to vomit violently in a thankfully deserted bathroom.


	14. What's Better

After Vegas things get better- and worse. 

Things are better on the team unity front because Stiles is making a concerted effort to not be such a spectacular thorn in his captain’s side. He didn’t think his silent hatred of Derek had such an effect on the rest of the team, but when he and Derek stop visibly trying to kill each other with the eye lasers they both seem to be under the impression they have, it’s like the whole team breathes a sigh of relief. It’s not easy, not with Derek’s intense attention pointed at him all the time like some kind of predator out of an Animal Planet show, but Stiles allows his captain to push packages freshly grilled tuna and bison steaks at him during every lunch and dinner break, and hand him hot cups of perfectly prepared americanos every morning. Everywhere Stiles turns Derek is there with some kind of organic smoothie or a bottle of water. Stiles tries to be grateful but he can’t help but feel grumpy and disconcerted when he has to say thank you to Derek hale ten times a day. The food isn’t as bad as Derek’s stone faced insistence that Stiles wear his team jacket like some kind of freshmen girl. It has Derek’s name printed in enormous fucking letters on the back, along with the white C that denotes him as team captain, but more importantly, Derek has owned it since he was a rookie with the Loups and is positively reeks of him. 

“I don’t want it.” Stiles had wrinkled up his nose and pouted like a toddler when Derek had given it to him. “It reeks.”

Derek had rolled his eyes and said gruffly, “That’s the point, Stiles. The doctor said your body chemistry will even out sooner if you’re surrounded by a safe alpha’s scent.” 

“Well, maybe,” Stiles had groused, “But my nose will die in the process.” 

“I guess I could give you some of my used sheets instead.” Derek had mused and it had shut Stiles up and gotten him in the jacket real quickly. 

The problem with Derek’s scent isn’t actually that it smells terrible to Stiles- it’s actually that it smells perfect and safe and like everything Stiles isn’t allowed to have. The last thing Stiles wants to do is smell Derek’s scent mixed with his wife’s on their sheets. Stiles might be a little bit of a masochist- he is a professional dancer after all, but Derek and he have been spending a lot of time together since Derek took it upon himself to be Stiles road room mate, and the captains is starting to smell like... them. Like Derek and Stiles together. The stupid, idiot, useless omega part of Stiles can’t bear to have that scent replaced in his memory by the scent of Derek with his actual life partner. 

Stiles doesn’t allow himself to go on the gossip blogs or the tabloid websites too often. He doesn’t like seeing comments about his ass from leering spectators and he hates all the regrettable pictures there are of him floating around from his youth when he didn’t care who saw his wrist. He knows the rest of the team knows about what exactly is behind the ever present wrist guard because he hears the rookie alphas whispering about it sometimes. 

“Bit of a coincidence, isn’t it?” He hears Malone muttering in the break room at the studio on day. Stiles is hovering just outside the door where the two alpha rookies can’t see him.

“Maybe,” Anderson shrugs, taking a swig of coffee. “But there are like, millions of Dereks out there. He probably just keeps it covered because he doesn’t want to take shit from us about it.”

Malone looks dubious, “Derek isn’t mated- not in a real way anyways, and Stilinski isn’t mated... they both are two of the top dancers in the country- seems like a bit too many coincidences for me.” 

Anderson shrugs, “Stilinski isn’t mated because he refuses to be mated. You hear him with the press- he hates the idea. And I’ve read interviews from when Derek was a rookie. He doesn’t have an omega mate.”

Malone scoffs at this, “How can an alpha not have an omega mate?! Derek’s like the most classic alpha alive!”

Anderson shrugs. “In this interview Derek said the letters on his wrist don’t spell anything- it’s like a birth defect or something. And anyways, Derek has a son.” 

“Derek is full of shit.” Malone laughs. “I’m pretty sure that isn’t like, a medical thing. He might have a wife and a son, but twenty bucks says he also has a very pissed omega out there too.”

“You’re on!” Anderson had laughed and rolled his eyes. 

Stiles stops going on the internet altogether after that. He starts winding Duck tape over his wrist guard too, in an act of double protection.


	15. What's Worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ((Stop, Drop, Roll))  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4c-K83WhPdM

The doctor is a crock of crockitty shit for a OANDL team physician. Team relations are better. Stiles is eating better. He might be smelling better- or worse depending on whose perspective you ask but it really doesn’t much matter because he can no longer keep much of anything down, he doesn’t have the energy to argue, and all Derek’s smell does is distract him and keep him in a cold, tremor-ridden insomnia all night. 

For the first time in years Stiles hates his body- hates being an omega. His body- his instrument of choice is shutting down. He’s being betrayed by something out of his control, the same way his alpha betrayed him by leaving him alone all this time. Stiles has been good to his body and he would have been more than good to his alpha but sometimes things just aren’t in the cards and Stiles has accepted this. He has. Stiles is a pragmatist and for him A - B = C. This is not about life dreams as in fantasy. This is about THE dream as in what Stiles can do right now. Stiles is an artist and an athlete first- he should have known he was too sensitive, felt things too deeply, too passionately to navigate the world without his alpha to help block out the noise. His body is giving him an ultimatum- stop, or drop and roll into an early grave. But Stiles is a champion and champions don’t negotiate with biological terrorists. 

And Stiles doesn’t do things by half-measures. Stiles wants that cup. Captain Tall, Dark, and Stupid told Boyd the only thing that would make him happier is winning the national championship cup. And because Stiles’ useless omega subconscious is still bizarrely convinced that Derek Hale is his alpha and- for some completely illogical reason, wants nothing more than to please his alpha, Stiles is going to help the team win that cup, the omega drop be damned. 

Stiles becomes fucking Meryl Streep. His nipples are so sensitive he can’t stand wearing too many clothes, but if he doesn’t dress in layers somebody is going to notice his cold sweats. He starts coating the top of his chest in ointment and wrapping it in gauze every morning before practice, and layering on shirts and sweatshirts at the studio. He eats whatever gourmet crap Derek sets in front of him and holds off running to the bathroom to hurl until Derek is distracted by Isaac. To make up for his inability to keep food down he starts taking supplements- a million vitamins that turn his pee florescent and drinking copious amounts of peppermint tea to settle his stomach. Stiles keeps a pack of dryer sheets in his bag now and is constantly wiping his ‘distress scent’ off when nobody is looking. Stiles is going to get his captain that cup before he drops too far to perform anymore. 

Stiles has a calender in his bag that he’s taken to obsessively marking. Stiles has 13 weeks until nationals. That’s 91 days. That’s 2184 hours. That’s 131,040 minutes. It won’t matter what happens after that, but Stiles is going to make his not-alpha happy. Then maybe his omega will be satisfied.


	16. Princess Kate and Queen Laura

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi beautiful people! Sometimes I put links to songs in the summary that go with the chapter. Check them out for an enhanced, campy experience of this fic!

Derek smiles now- a lot. The whole team notices and they all smile a lot more as a direct result. Boyd is almost like a puppy in the way he’s taken to tackling, both of them laughing and grinning like frat boys. He lets Derek pin him in a headlock, snarling joyfully. Once in a while Isaac joins in the fun, pink and giggling as the three of them dash around the studio. Stiles watches from the sidelines as much as he can. Boyd is throwing him higher and higher now and he’d feel like Superman if it wasn’t for all the vertigo. Stiles makes sure to heap loads and loads of praise on Boyd, looking so eager and so excited he know Boyd doesn’t have the heart to mention the only reason he’s able to fly Stiles so high is that Stiles is losing weight like an ice cube in summer. The Loups keep winning and Stiles has taken to sending every medal home to Joesy and his dad. If he isn’t able to control the drop, he wants them to have something to remember him by. 

On day 81 Stiles decides he shouldn’t drive anymore. His head hurts too much and he’s starting to take the other drivers’ road rage way too personally. He asks Boyd to start picking him up and driving him home to practice. He isn’t too surprised when instead of his dance partner, Derek shows up as his condo the next morning in his ridiculous Camero which not only smells like pure Hale but also has a child’s booster seat in the back. He gets in without comment and he and Derek get in some argument about who the best choreographer in the game is, which ends with Derek putting him in a headlock in the parking lot of the studio. Whatever, it’s not like it’s hard to pin him anyways. Somehow Stiles manages to think it’s funny anyways and laughs like a crazy person all the way into the studio’s green room, Derek’s enormous arm around his neck. The rest of the team looks on happily. 

They fight almost constantly after that and it becomes the highlight of Stiles life- as pathetic as that sounds. They bicker like teenaged girls, trading insults and smacking each other on the arm and across the back. The coaches give them disapproving looks when Stiles breaks a serious moment in practice by sticking his tongue out at Derek in the studios mirrors and Derek almost drops Isaac because he’s laughing so hard. Stiles chases Derek around the green room with a sofa cushion one night, slap happy from too little sleep and too much Red Bull Zero and he ends up bashing the much taller alpha repeatedly. Derek lets him, a good natured grin on his striking face, but he doesn’t try to pin Stiles or crowd him against the wall like an alpha normally would during play. They have boundaries. This is healthy. It feels wrong- but it’s healthy. Anyways, it’s good Derek doesn’t get too close- Stiles isn’t sure how well the dryer sheets are working. His skin is like tissue paper now, and his whole body is a watercolor mess of yellow and green bruises. Derek has replaced Boyd as the teammate he hangs out with the most now. They sing along to Lady Gaga on the radio together and trade stupid texts with way too many emoticons. It’s like having a best friend who is also in a weird way your own private nemesis. It’s day 73 and Stiles doesn’t want to hate Derek anymore. This isn’t Derek’s fault. 

During away competitions Derek is on his phone almost constantly now. He always takes the calls in the bathroom, talking too low and too intently for Stiles to hear. He always comes out with a carefully blank expression on his face and Stiles doesn’t ask. He can handle being Derek’s friend, but he’s still too selfish to ask about Devon or Derek’s wife. He doesn’t want to see the pictures and art work he knows Kate texts Derek on a regular basis when they’re on the road. He knows Derek says goodnight to his family every night, and Stiles always steps over to Boyd’s room for that particular phone call. Stiles is trying to be good, but his omega is a bitch. 

On day 69 they all go over to Derek’s for a holiday party. Apparently this is some kind of grand Loups’ tradition. Stiles sits in his condo and stares at his street clothes for like an hour before settling on dark denim Rock & Republic jeans with a light cashmere sweater and a chic Tom Ford blazer over the top. He sticks a light grey and black tartan scarf hanging off his front belt loop just in case he starts sweating and needs to cover more of his skin. 

Boyd drives him over, Stiles sitting in the backseat of his Phantom, talking mostly to Erica who is riding shotgun. Boyd gives his fiancé shit for gushing over Stiles’ performances and Stiles laughs so much his nerves over going into uncharted Hale territory almost abate. But not quite. 

Derek’s house is enormous and modern, all clean lines and sharp angles. Both the exterior and the interior are almost exclusively white and Stiles wonders how they manage to have a kid in such pristine conditions. Of course, they’re a little late- Stiles took longer than Erica getting dressed. The house is lit up for the holidays and when they arrive a valet parks Boyd’s car and they walk into a house filled with gourmet smells and laughter. Almost the whole team is there with their children and wives and husbands, and they enter almost unnoticed. 

Stiles doesn’t seek Derek out. He’ll be perfectly happy to avoid the alpha completely the whole evening. He takes a large crystal glass of water with lemon, not eager to try his luck with alcohol and hides behind Boyd and Erica, in a group of teammates, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. Everywhere there are small children running around sneaking sweets from the waiters and dressed in holiday velvets and tulle. Stiles has almost no experience with children, but he smiles politely and signs a few cocktail napkins for some of the coaches’ and managers’ older kids. Mostly he just tries to not give in to his pressing urge to high tail it to a bathroom and lock himself in for the remainder of the evening. 

About and hour and a half in Stiles is at the buffet examining some cut vegetables when something runs into his leg. He looks down and sees an impish toddler in charcoal pants and a Baby Gucci vest staring up at him with very familiar green eyes, seemingly transfixed. 

Without thinking Stiles bends down and gets on eye level with the kid. “Hi,” he says, doing his best to smile in a non-threatening way. 

The little boy breaks out in an enormous partly toothy grin. “Hi,” he says back. 

“I’m Stiles. What’s your name?” Stiles asks. 

“Devon.” The boy says confidently. 

“That’s a nice name.” Stiles says, unsure of what else to say. “Do you want a carrot?”

The boy takes the carrot from him and chomps down on it happily. “These are my favorite!” He exclaims. 

“Mine too.” Stiles can’t help himself but grin back. 

“Devon! There you are!” A tall, honeyed woman in conservative Calvin Klein appears out on nowhere, scooping the boy up in her long arms. The boy answers in some kind of squawk of indigence and squirms to get down. “I’m sorry,” The tall woman says, trying to get a hold on the wiggly child. “It’s past his bedtime-“ she pauses, as Stiles stands up, staring at him. “You’re Stiles, aren’t you?”

“Um,” Stiles swallows, trying not to stare at the enormous platinum and diamond rock on her elegant hand. “Yeah.” 

“I’m Kate Hale.” She says and her face is a bit hesitant. She turns to the still struggling child in her arms. “My husband has told me about you.”

Stiles looks at her, unsure of how to interpret that.

“Mommy, no!” Devon squeals, petulantly, saving him from having to answer and Stiles has never been more grateful to a kid in his life. “Wanna go down!”

“It’s time for bed, Devon. We don’t want to bother Stiles.” Kate says to her son, shifting him from one slim hip to the other with difficulty. 

“Not bother.” Devon pouts stubbornly. “Stiles sad. He smells sad.”

Kate looks over at Stiles with wide blue eyes, her perfect nude lipsticked mouth open a little, when her squirming son is swept from her arms into the world’s most graceful bear hug. Stiles turns and sees the most beautiful alpha he’s ever set eyes on squeezing the life out of the now happily giggling little boy. Laura Hale has appeared out of nowhere like some kind of fashion angel, resplendent in Alexander McQueen, her dark hair tossed up loosely in raven waves. 

“How’s my favorite little alpha?” Laura croons to Devon.

“Laura-“ Kate looks taken aback at the sight of her sister-in-law. “I didn’t see you get here.”

Laura turns to look at her brother’s wife, her wide emerald eyes matching the enormous Harry Winston stones in her ears. “You know we had the Skinner benefit tonight, Kate.” She says, her voice musical and dismissive. “But I wouldn’t miss being with my Loups for the world.” She kisses Devon on the cheek and says to the little boy, “Go see Uncle Kenny. He has a present for you.” She sets the grinning toddler down and he takes off in the direction of the front door. 

Kate almost frowns, her smooth face looking a little pinched. “You spoil him, Laura.” 

Laura laughs, her voice like the tinkling of champagne glasses. “You are no fun, Kate. Devon is an alpha, he needs a little excitement in his life.” She smiles over to Stiles like she’s known him for years, “Stiles knows what I’m talking about, don’t you, darling?” 

Stiles swallows, completely unsure of how he managed to get himself in the exact place he didn’t want to be tonight. “Um...”

“Kate, be a lamb and find my useless brother,” Laura says, not even looking at her sister-in-law, still staring at Stiles like he’s a particularly interesting pair of shoes in a window. “I have something to discuss with him.” Kate blanches a little, looking at Stiles and then at Laura and then back at Stiles again. “Don’t worry about Stiles,” Laura says, her eyes darkening, “I’ve neglected the Loups star omega since the season began. We have lots to catch up on.” 

“Derek and I have to put our son to bed anyways.” Kate says stiffly, “It was good of you to come, Laura.” She walks away with the click of camel heels. 

Laura ropes her elegant arm around Stiles’ and leans in conspiratorially, “Don’t worry about her, Stiles,” she says, laughing a little. “That woman thinks that having a baby has made her an Olympic gold medalist, or something, as if anyone couldn’t do it. Tell me how you are?” 

“Er...” Stiles says, looking down at the flawless alpha on his arm. “I’m fine, Ms. Hale. The seasons’ been going really well. I think we have a shot at the cup.”

“Of course we do, darling,” Laura says dissmissively. “You’re the best omega to ever compete in the OANDL. Why do you think I petitioned so hard to get you drafted to the Loups? That isn’t what I’m talking about- I mean, how are you?” 

Stiles is a bit dumbfounded over the revelation that Laura Hale, his favorite alpha dancer growing up is responsible for giving him a career in the OANDL, “I’m good.” He swallows, completely unnerved by her intense stare. “We’re winning.”

“Hmm.” Laura makes a soft noise, considering. “I don’t think so. You’re a good actor, Stiles, and that may fool the idiot males around you, but you’ve been dropping weight since Nevada- too much I think. You smell like a Sylvia Plath poem. No, I don’t think you’re well at all.”

“I’m good!” Sitles insists, taking his arm from Laura and turning to face her. “I promise. I’m not going to let the team down!”

“Of course not,” Laura says, her face softening. She reaches up to cup Stiles cheek. “This isn’t your fault, Stiles. You’re the best omega, really. I think I need to talk to my brother about your care plan. Don’t worry, Stiles. I know I haven’t been around for the Loups much this season- Ken and I have been doing this humanitarian committee that has been eating our lives, but I’m coming to Orlando next weekend. It’ll be fine. I promise.” 

She steps away in a whirl of silk and Dior perfume and Stiles feels a bit like he’s been tossed through a laundry cycle. He finds Boyd soon after and makes him drive him home.


	17. Running Interference

So there’s the old (probably sexist, but also true,) adage about women: Smart, hot, sane- pick two. In the coming days it becomes ridiculously obvious what two qualities Laura Hale was endowed with. Stiles considers asking Boyd if all of the Hale women are hot and crazy or if Laura just hogged all the hot and crazy in the gene pool. The woman seems to have both- in spades. 

It’s clear the eldest Hale child knows exactly what she wants and what she doesn’t. Unfortunately for Stiles, Laura seems to have tired of his existence as it is and has decided to turn it upside down for her own damn amusement. They head to Orlando on day 67 and when they get to the lobby of the hotel, Laura is there looking majestic and imperious in enormous Prada sunglasses and a completely ivory Michael Kors ensemble. Derek stands beside her holding her Hermes bag and leaning on her Louis Vuitton luggage with a sour expression on his face. 

Laura smiles radiantly when she sees Stiles and pulls up the sunglasses, “Stiles, darling!” She coos, taking both of his hands and kissing him fondly on either cheek. “You look positively worn. Aren’t plane rides just odious? Next time you’ll fly on the jet with us- it’ll be less stressful for you.”She frowns at Derek, “Derek you should have invited Stiles to fly with me.”

Derek frowns back at his older sister. “I didn’t even want to fly with you.” He grouses. 

“Oh hush,” Laura chides gently. “Go find someone to take our bags up to the rooms. Stiles needs to stretch out and have a good night’s rest. You think I don’t remember how to take care of an omega dancer, but I do.” She pulls a chilled Evian out of the bag hanging off Derek’s arm and hands it to Stiles. “Darling, you look peaked. When you get back to Beacon Hills you must have a spa day with Kenneth. There’s this amazing omega spa a few miles from our house. You’ll love it.” Laura informs him.

Stiles isn’t sure what an omega spa is or what the appropriate response is to that so he takes a giant gulp of water instead.

Derek flags down a bell boy and the four of them climb into a private elevator up to the top floor. Laura and Derek are both typing away on their phones, but when Laura sees Derek’s she swats it away with one manicured hand and shoots him a look. Laura leads the group down a expansive hall and opens a door. The room is larger than the ones Stiles usually stays in and sports a queen-sized bed instead of two doubles.

“Is this where you are staying?” Stiles asks, his voice sounds a little high. 

“Of course not,” Laura says smoothly, tipping the bell boy generously and directing him to leave Stiles’ and Derek’s bags by the bed and hang up their garment bags in the closet. “I’m in the penthouse. This is for you and Derek. It’s a nice quiet room away from the team. I know you’re sensitive to noise, Stiles.” 

“We... we usually get a double.” Stiles stammers, suddenly feeling very out of control of his own pathetic life.

“A queen is better.” Laura states as if it’s settled. “You get cold at night and you’ll be closer to the alpha scent. You’ll get better sleep and Derek won’t have to get up to check on you obsessively all night long- don’t look at me like that, Derek, I know you do it.”

She fidgets with her calf-skin gloves as Stiles blushes the color of a prune and looks down and away.

Derek breaks the silence gruffly, “Laura- I’m married.” 

Shit, apparently, rolls downhill quickly and picks up speed.

“You’re also an idiot, Derek, and that hasn’t stopped you before.” Laura sniffs. “Oh don’t keep looking at me like that! I’m not asking you to knot him, for Pete’s sake!” Stiles wishes he was anywhere but here. “You can smell him as well as I can! Alpha up for once in your goddamn life. Really- is sleeping a foot away from your teammate too much to ask for Stiles’ health?” 

Derek glares at his sister for a moment before looking down and away. He pick up his suitcase and begins unpacking his toiletries in a silent sulk. 

“I thought so.” Laura says, looking all alpha-y and proud of herself. “Stiles, darling, I’m right at the end of the hall. Call me or knock on my door if you need anything. For God’s sake, Derek, stop looking so constipated and remember to help Stiles stretch out tonight. You’re the team captain and we have a comp tomorrow! Honestly, you would think I’m the only one in this family with any classical training. I love you- goodnight.” Laura flounces out of the room with the mortified bell boy and shuts the door behind her. 

Stiles cannot bring himself to look at the queen-sized bed, so he takes his shoes off and walks over to the bathroom and switches on the light. He looks a little green.

“I’m sorry,”comes Derek’s voice from the other room. “Her soul feeds off my misery. Laura isn’t content unless she has me permanently cringing.” He pauses, “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Stiles takes a breath. Yes, Derek sleeping on the floor sounds preferable, but that’s probably why he shouldn’t do it. Derek and he are bros, and normal, average, non-sexually charged bros who do not have secret delusions about each other do not let bros sleep on the floor. 

“No,” Stiles says, popping his head outside the door and trying to look light-hearted. “It’s okay. You should sleep in the bed. If you don’t she’ll probably know.” 

“Would be funny if it wasn’t true...” Derek mutters. “It’s like she can smell what you’re thinking.”

“I like her,” Stiles says, laughing a little. “You need someone to kick your ass once in a while.”

“You do?” Derek looks surprised. 

“Of course,” Stiles says easily, “She was my favorite dancer as a kid. She’s just like I always thought she would be.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “She and Kate are always trying to kill each other.” He says, “For being a beta Kate takes the bait every single time. She doesn’t understand that Laura doesn’t like anyone.” He stops suddenly as if realizing he’s said all of that aloud. 

Stiles frowns, not liking the look on Derek’s face, all of a sudden feeling the overwhelming need to comfort him, to make him feel better. He walks over to Derek and puts a tentative hand on his arm. 

“She loves you, Derek. You’re her little brother.” Stiles says gently. “I’m sure she’s just protective of you.”

Derek turns away from him, looking pensive. “Nah,” he says quietly. “A while back I broke her trust and she hasn’t been able to forgive me since.” He sits on the bed, staring out the window at the skyline. “She warned me about it, but I was so angry and so headstrong I didn’t listen.” Derek takes a shaky breath and looks down at his lap. “I made a mistake- a big one. And even after all that, she’s still trying to help me, trying to make it right.” 

Stiles walks over and sits next to Derek, not touching him, but close enough so he can feel his body heat.

“Derek,” He says, solemn and sure. “Whatever you did, whatever happened- your family will forgive you. It’s not too late to make it right. They love you, man.”

Derek looks up at him, his face grim, and studies Stiles for a long moment. Stiles is unused to the intense scrutiny, and finds himself blushing and looking away. He feels soft, tentative fingertips brush his arm and can’t help but shudder under the slightest of touch. When he looks up Derek’s face is soft and he’s smiling a little.

“Come on,” Derek says, quiet and fond, “Let’s get you stretched out before Laura has my balls.”

“I stretch out with Boyd,” Stiles mutters dumbly. 

“He hasn’t been doing a good enough job,” Derek says, maneuvering Stiles down to the floor with soft, bossy hands. “You look terrible.”

“I’m fine,” Stiles answers, but he lets Derek manhandle him through his usual stretches, trying not to freeze under his captain’s close watch. In the end he does feel a little better and they fall into something almost like a peaceful sleep that night, on opposite ends of the bed.


	18. One Song Glory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ((One Song Glory))  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zlCAHF-eEl8

Stiles’ alarm goes off the next morning and the other side of the bed is cold. Derek is nowhere in sight, but he’s tucked his stupid Loups jacket next to Stiles under the covers like a security blanket. Stiles looks down at it distastefully and rolls himself out of bed and into the shower. He has to meet Erica in a tight forty to get into makeup for the day. 

Stiles walks over to Boyd and Erica’s room with his garment bag and his makeup kit. Erica hands him freshly brewed coffee and Boyd hands him another Evian. Erica gets him into makeup flawlessly and Boyd and he walk down to their warm up room to stretch out. Derek is mysteriously missing from the warmup as well, but Stiles doesn’t let it bother him. He’s probably warming up in Laura’s suite or something. However, Laura shows up fifteen minutes later in a Versace track suit with a triple depth charge demanding if anyone has seen her brother. Nobody has, and an hour later the team gets on the bus together- sans Derek, and file into the Amway Center a short drive later.

Captain Scary Eyes doesn’t show up until just after the opening announcement, the team standing side by side watching the first groups take the floor. He looks like he’s just been picked up and spit out by a tornado on the way over and Stiles raises an eyebrow because it is not like his captain to be MIA. But all Derek does is flush and down a whole bottle of sports water in one go. Derek’s phone is still in his hand and it’s blowing up with vibrations almost continually. Stiles would bet money it’s Laura- but Derek doesn’t look too interested in placating his sister. He tosses his phone in one of the trainer’s bags under and bench and wordlessly leads Stiles over to a side mat and all but forces him down and begins taking him through his stretches. Stiles shoots a bunch of bitch faces at Derek, but Derek doesn’t look like he’s in a talking mood and anyways the music is on too loudly in the stadium for them to really discuss where this caveman behavior is coming from. 

No- come to think of it, Stiles doesn’t know and he doesn’t fucking care. Derek could be having a Freaky Friday moment with a rhinoceros right now for all he can do about it. Stiles has a solo to go on for in a half hour and he needs to get focused. Stiles and the team choreographer worked on this piece for a long time and he’s hoping it’s what will get him on the Olympic team next year. He chose the music and helped the choreographer compose. He elbows Captain Octopus Arms in the gut and goes to shed his warmups, ready to take the floor.

Stiles hears his name announced and the roar of the crowd- he’s a clear favorite here, but it’s all white noise in comparison to the beat of Stile’s heart and the movement of his lungs. Stiles finds himself opening up to his body, taking in more oxygen and getting ready for his opening front handspring across the floor. Stiles starts counting to eight in his head and then he hears the opening acoustic chords of One Song Glory, Aaron Tveit’s voice floating over the speaker system. 

And then Stiles ceases to exist and just becomes the music. There is no crowd, there are no judges, there is no name on his wrist, there is no drop, there is only the floor and Stiles defying the odds, defying the air, and for three minutes there is peace. 

Stiles collapses in his final pose and his ears return to normal. The crowd is deafening. His teammates mob him, Boyd getting to him first, the alpha’s massive arms nearly obscuring him completely. He’s grinning and out of breath and he can barely feel his body, but he allows Boyd to lead him over to the kiss and cry, as he sits and waits for his scores. After a few moments his scores come back, one by one. They are all perfect- a row of perfect tens, a career first for him, nearly unheard of in OANDL history. 

Stiles is shocked to the core and he stands up, feeling tears coming to his eyes. He looks around, searching for... he doesn’t even know what. He finds it when he sees Derek, his captain, his friend, his care-giver, coming towards him as if magnetically pulled by some force in the universe. Stiles runs to him and jumps into his huge, strong arms, crying and joyfully thoughtless. Derek is pulling him in close, and his scent is everywhere. And then Derek’s lips are on his, perfect and firm and demanding and more than Stiles could have ever dreamed. Derek’s tongue licks into Stiles mouth, as if it belongs to Derek, rough and powerful with just the right give. And Derek tastes like safety and peace- the opposite of everything Stiles has been running from. And Stiles needs that flavor, needs the taste of him the way Stiles needs his next breath. 

And then Stiles realizes what’s going on. He pushes himself violently out of Derek’s grasp, staring at the captain in abject horror. He must have caught Derek by surprise because the alpha lets him go easily with a whine of confusion and is staring back at him looking like he’s just been punched in the face. Stiles is shaking, trembling all over and he’s not sure he’ll be able to walk, but he needs to get the hell out of here and away from Derek, and so he turns tail and pushes his way through the athletes in a daze, headed for the team’s warm up room. Somewhere in the back of his mind he hears Derek cursing loudly and calling his name, but Stiles can only think of how he needs to get up and get out right now.


	19. Deluge

Okay, really the get away plan could have used more work, but in Stiles’ defense he had not been expecting to have his captain’s tongue down his throat on national television today- or ever. This was not in the cards. Hell, this wasn’t even in the deck. WHY IS STILES SO STUPID?! Why hadn’t he kept his distance from his stupid captain? Why had he reevaluated their dynamic and tried to be friends? He knows his instincts- the first plan is usually the best plan. Why was he the only omega on the planet born with a complete lack of self-preservation? Why was his biology trying to ruin his life? What? Killing him slowly wasn’t enough?

These were not the questions Stiles should have been asking himself, but all of the blood in his body feels like it’s welling up in his face and he thinks he might pass out or die or jump out a window or something so it’s not like he’s- you know, thinking clearly right now. Stiles is a really terrible fucking omega because he doesn’t even lock the door when he comes barreling into the Loups warmup room all red eyed and retching and stumbling around. Stiles is also a terrible omega because he doesn’t remember that alphas have really long legs and can be really fucking fast with the right motivation and it isn’t sixty seconds before Boyd and Derek come crashing throught the door after him. Boyd actually does have the presence of mind to lock the doors after them, but Derek is just staring open mouthed at Stiles and Stiles starts looking at the windows with significantly more interest.

“Stiles,” Derek says and the name comes out choked and raw and Derek sounds destroyed.

Stiles rounds on him, his breath coming in big, panicked gulps. “You want to tell me what the hell that was?!” Stiles squeaks this and his voice sounds high and hysterical. “Asshole!” He adds for good measure.

Derek gapes at him for a moment like a fish being gutted alive and Stiles vaguely registers Boyd smacking his own forehead in the background.

Finally Derek blinks at Stiles and takes a breath. “I’m getting a divorce.” The words come tumbling out, breathless and hurried, and Derek and Stiles both stand there staring at each other, collectively shocked to hear them out loud.

“WHAT?!” Stiles almost screams this. He really has poor control over his air intake right now and his whole body is racked with tremors.

“That’s not what I meant to say.” Derek says, looking pale and helpless at Stiles obvious distress. “But it’s true. Kate and I are getting a divorce. I told her this morning and had my lawyer serve her with papers.” He takes a step towards Stiles tentatively, looking miserable.

“WHAT?!” Stiles shrieks again, his voice still high, his whole body still hyperventilating. This would be embarrassing if he wasn’t too colossally pissed to care. “WHAT?! WHY?!”

Derek steps closer to him, his face lined in deep concern, he tries to reach out to Stiles, only to have the omega flinch away like a startled horse. Derek looks down at him, his eyes earnest and wide.

“You know why.” Derek says, reaching out and tearing off Stiles wrist guard before going for his own. “You’re my mate.”

Stiles looks down at their wrists together, both pale and yellowed from lack of sunlight. Derek’s name is on his wrist, all neat block letters and Stiles sees it, really sees it for the first time in years. Derek’s wrist is large and graceful like the rest of him, and Stiles slanted signature is there, solid and complete and very, very real. Stiles stares up at Derek’s face, trying desperately to reconcile this new information with the last three years, with the time he’s spent even in the last few months since joining the Loups. Nothing makes sense. Nothing feels right.

Boyd’s voice floats from over his shoulder and he feels the large alpha coming up behind him. “We didn’t see your name until the Junior Nationals results were published, two years ago, Stiles.” He says quietly. “When your name came on the Loups roster this year, we figured it was you.”

Stiles looks at Boyd, still shaking, still confused. “My name?” he rasps.

“Stiles,” Derek says and his eyes are huge and pleading and dark. “I didn’t start getting a name on my wrist until I was eight. And then it took so long to come in. I didn’t think I had a mate- honestly, I didn’t. When Kate got pregnant I only had three letters on my wrist. I thought this was my only chance to have a family. I wasn’t thinking- I didn’t know.”

Stiles takes a step back from the two alphas, his wide red eyes staring at them like he doesn’t know who they are. He shakes his head slowly, disbelieving, willing himself out of this, numb and yet hurting more than he ever has his entire life.

“When I met you everything changed!” Derek says, his voice desperate and filled with a deep agony. “I was married, Stiles! With a son. I was a father and a husband and I had responsibilities-“ Derek’s voice cuts off and a broken sound spills from inside him. He looks back up at Stiles, his eyes begging for understanding. “But I wanted you. I saw you and I knew you were mine. I had no right to you anymore. I knew that, but I wanted you in ways that made me too ashamed to even look at you. I thought if I took care of you, made sure you were okay, made sure you had everything you ever wanted it would be enough.” Derek takes a trembling breath and adds quietly, “The last letter of your name came in the day I met you.”

Stiles is crying in earnest now, and he can feel his fingernails cutting into his palms painfully as he clenches his fists tighter and tighter. He can barely breathe but he hisses out, “Fuck you,” through gritted teeth. “Fuck you, Derek. How dare you? How...” Stiles lets out a desolate sob and looks down, suddenly unable to look at the alpha who had been carrying his name on his wrist all these years. “Eight years, Derek. I have known since I was _eleven_ that you are my alpha! When you got married I thought I was going insane! I thought I was _crazy_ , Derek- honest to God crazy!” He stares at Derek in disbelief. “You let me believe I was alone in this world! You let me believe my alpha didn’t _want_ me- that I wasn’t good enough! You let me believe _nobody_ would ever love me, Derek! Christ! I waited for you for eight fucking years! You couldn’t wait for three more fucking letters? I was worth so little to you? You couldn’t wait. You _didn’t_ wait.”

“No-“ Derek breathes, desperate and horrified. He grabs Stiles hands a little too roughly, bending down to capture Stiles’ eyes, his own huge and pained. “I have always wanted you- never think that I didn’t, never say that again. I wanted you so much I couldn’t stand to look at you, to be around you, to smell you without my scent on you. Don’t you understand? I thought I could do the right thing. I thought I could I could stay married to Kate and do right by Devon and still take care of you. I tried to do the right thing, Stiles, to show you how much I care for you in the only ways I could. But it can’t be like that- I see that now.” He reaches up and strokes Stiles face gently, staring into Stiles’ face like it’s the most precious, amazing thing he’s ever seen. “I need you, Stiles. I can’t be without you. I can’t do this half-assed. I need you like an alpha needs an omega. I need you with me every day and in my bed every night. I need to see the scar of my claiming bite on your neck, and I need to smell my scent on you always. I need to feed you and shelter you and keep you where I never have to worry about you going into a drop or getting hurt again.” Derek’s face is getting closer to his now. “Don’t you see?” He breathes, and Stiles can smell the overwhelming desire and torture in his voice. “I thought I was doing the right thing, but now I see I can’t be the father I want to be or the captain I want to be or the alpha I want to be without you.”

Stiles breaks Derek’s hold on him and steps back, still shaking his head. “You have a _son_!” Stiles says ardently. “What about Devon? You got Kate pregnant- you married his mother, he didn’t ask for this! You made a promise to Kate and you made a promise to that baby. It’s a little late to be thinking about your wrist now, Derek. What the hell do you know about need? That baby needs you and he needs Kate, Derek.” Stiles shakes his head, horrified. “I can’t do this.”

“Stiles!” His names comes out as a moan, but Stiles is no longer crying. In fact for the first time in his life this whole mate situation makes sense to him. He takes another step back from where Derek is standing, looking wrecked and confused. The alpha lets out a whine again and says quietly, “I can’t do this without you, Stiles. Please don’t make me. Please...”

Stiles pulls himself up to his full height and forces himself to take a breath. “You have been doing this without me, Derek. You told them I was a fucking birth defect.” He shakes his head, laughing humorlessly. “I don’t have an alpha, Derek. I’ve never had an alpha. This?” He holds up his wrist and pulls his guard back over the letters. “This is nothing more than a mistake.” Stiles turns, unlocks the door, and walks out.


	20. The Other Woman

Stiles calls his head coach in between puking his guts up in the toilet of Erica’s hotel room. There is no way he’s fit to perform right now, and may never be again. Erica sits on the bed watching him and wringing her hands. When she isn’t peering nervously she’s mostly glued to her phone, texting rapidly, her eyebrows a mess of worry. Stiles keeps dry heaving well after there is anything left to regurgitate up, and he ends up lying on the bathroom floor, panting and nursing a headache the size of a jet plane. He’s not sure how long he lies there, but Erica tries unsuccessfully more than once to get him to get up and go to bed. In the end she opens a chilled bottle of water and leaves it next to where his face is lying horizontally on the bathroom floor. So now Stiles knows- this is where the end of his broken road leads: the bathroom floor of an Orlando Airport Hilton. Super. The whole pity party experience is new to Stiles and, quite frankly, not worth repeating. 

The thing to do would be to peel himself off the floor, take a shower, and take a flight back to Beacon Hills where he can call his agent about getting traded. Less than 24 hours ago Stiles had been positive that he would be with the Loups for life. Sure, he hadn’t been certain how long that life would be, but he’d had that figured out. He really loved Boyd and Erica and the rest of his team. Hell, he’d even wanted to make Laura proud. Sure, he was in a drop that was pretty much the medical equivalent of hell, and he would never have a mate or kids, but the Loups would have been his family and he would have done his best for them. He had wanted to give them everything- everything he was and everything he had up until the end came and he had nothing left. Stiles had thought that would have been a good life. 

Stiles had plans. Real, actual plans that involved real actual friends. Now he figures he’ll just take a plane to New York and dance with the Applettes until they figure out he’s not going to recover from this omega drop. With luck Stiles will collapse in an ice bath after a competition one day and just never get out. That way Stiles won’t have to retire to a few wheelchair bound months without dance and Derek can patch things up with Kate and raise his son without wondering what might have been or whatever bullshit has infected the alpha’s plebeian brain. It’s not exactly cheerful, but it’s a pragmatic plan and totally do-able. 

“Stiles?” 

Stiles groans. There it is- that tickling champagne flute voice and a pair of Jimmy Choo pumps clicking towards him at eye level. And then Laura’s super model face is down by his and all he can smell is Dior perfume and a restless, maternal worry. 

“You.” Stiles croaks, eyeing her through a slitted gaze.

“Stiles honey, get off the floor. It’s far too cold for you down there.” Laura frowns, half tugging him up to a standing position. 

“Never!” Stiles groans, a deadweight in her arms. “I want to stay here.” 

Laura ignores this and herds him into the bedroom. Erica is nowhere in sight, but the bedclothes are turned down and Laura bundles him bossily into bed. Despite her slim stature, Derek’s older sister is still and alpha and makes use of her superior strength well. She leaves him on his back staring blankly at the ceiling for a few moments. When she comes back in the room she sits on the side of his bed and begins carefully wiping his face with a warm, clean cloth. 

“You’re going to be just fine, Stiles.” Laura says brightly, cleaning the sweat off his neck. “You’ll feel better after a good night’s rest.” 

“You knew about this.” Stiles says, his voice low and dead. 

Laura sighs and takes his hand, lacing her fingers with his. “I thought it was likely, yes.” Her voice sounds sad and tired. “I love my brother, Stiles. I was always on the look out for his mate.” 

“He’s married.” Stiles states this flatly. 

“It never should have happened.” Laura says softly. “I begged him not to do it. I pleaded. He was so young, Stiles. He knows he made a mistake. I think he knew that even before he met you.” 

“Devon is not a mistake.” Stiles grates out. “He is a child. Derek’s child. And he has a mother- Derek’s wife.” 

“And I love my nephew more than I thought it was possible to love another human being.” Laura says firmly. “But I’m not going to tell you I thought Derek did the right thing by marrying Kate and I’m not going to tell you I think staying married to Kate is the right thing either. Devon is part of our lives, but believe you, me- he is the only good thing that’s come out of this mess.” 

“Derek says you’ve always hated Kate.” Stiles mutters. “I know why you drafted me now. You wanted me to break them up. You don’t like her.”

Laura squeezes Stiles’ hand. “I drafted you because you’re amazing. And you are the right omega for the team and you are the right omega for my brother. I’m not sorry I brought you together. I’m not sorry Derek knows what real love is supposed to be like. And I’m not sorry for bringing you to our family. Just like you’re meant to be with Derek, you’re meant to be with us too. Our family isn’t complete without you, Stiles. And I cannot see how Derek’s past changes what our family was meant to be.” 

“I saw the way you are with Kate.” Stiles says miserably. “I know you don’t think a beta is good enough for Derek. But Derek has a family, Laura. He has Kate and Devon- even if you or I don’t like it, it doesn’t change the fact that they are a family. I can’t break that up.” 

“It’s not exactly a secret that I don’t like Kate, Stiles.” Laura sighs. “I’ll give you that. Cora and I aren’t her biggest fans. But I’m not apologizing for that either. Kate knew Derek was an alpha when she met him. She knew he had an omega out there waiting for him, but she couldn’t take no for an answer. For some reason that I will never comprehend she got Derek to show her his wrist. After that she put the idea in his head that his omega wasn’t real- that there wasn’t someone out there for him, that it was all just a medical mistake. Cora and I and even our mother tried to tell him differently, but you know how stubborn Derek can be. He was so young and he wouldn’t listen. By the time she got pregnant there wasn’t anything I could do. I pleaded with him, Stiles, I really did. But he wasn’t thinking like an alpha. Kate poisoned my brother’s mind against you and against what was meant to be and I will never forgive her for that. Never.” 

Stiles is silent for a moment. “She was in love,” he says, his voice breaking a little. “She did what she did because she loved him. I can’t blame her for that.”

“If Kate really loves my brother she’ll let him go.” Laura says quietly. “You haven’t seen the change in him, Stiles, not like we have. He was so broken and so tired before you. Nobody is going to blame you for following what was always meant to be. You’re not the other woman- she is. Please think about it.” 

Stiles is quiet again, unable to keep his face from scrunching is a fragile frown. He lets go of Laura’s hand and rolls over to face the wall. 

“I’m tired.” He says.

Laura leans down and kisses him on the forehead. “I’ll let you rest, Stiles. Please don’t do anything drastic.” She turns the lights down and Stiles can hear the click of her heals as she walks from the room and closes the door.


	21. Die for That

When Derek Skypes Kate to tell her definitively that he wants a divorce it isn’t so much that they are breaking up- in many ways his alpha knows they had never really been together. It isn’t like breaking up. They were already broken. Or maybe Derek is just broken and Kate is fine. Maybe all alphas and omegas are broken until their mate makes them whole. Maybe he’d never known what pain was until Stiles had shown him what it was like to not hurt. The idea is ugly and scary and definitely not healthy, but Derek feels the truth in it like all the air being sucked out of his lungs. And like breathing, this is not an impulse. This doesn’t even feel like a choice. 

Stiles is dying. And Derek knows with certainty if they cross one more boundary, if they nudge their fragile relationship a few more tired paces, that eventually the time will come where there is no going back. If their bond solidifies any more, Stiles would not be able to go quietly from this place without Derek dying too. It might not be tomorrow- it might not even be in ten years, but Derek knows life without Stiles is nothing more than an unending sentence to solitary confinement. The turning point comes when Derek is sitting, crouched next to Stiles’ beautiful, silent form, helping him stretch out before bed, and Derek realizes he would literally risk death for a chance to love Stiles like that. It doesn’t have to turn out perfectly, they don’t have to end up riding off into the sunset together, he just wants one chance to hold Stiles close and tell him the truth, to ask Stiles to get healthy so he can stay here where he’s loved and desperately needed.

Derek may not know a lie when he hears it, but he knows the truth. Derek has been selfish. He wasn’t a good alpha or a good brother and now Stiles is suffering for it. And he’s probably still selfish, but at the same time Stiles isn’t gone yet and Derek can’t help but need to hold on and pull him back if it’s in his power to do so. Derek knows he should be strong, he’d rather have his son be from a broken home than have a broken father.

He tells Kate this much. Derek didn’t spring this on her. He hasn’t talked about Stiles explicitly but since more of the letters started appearing on his wrist they’ve had some painful conversations about omegas. Kate doesn’t seem to understand his longing, his restlessness, the nights he’d stay up staring out the window worrying for no apparent reason. As far as Kate is concerned they have a nice house, a good group of couples they play cards with whenever Derek is home, and the same taste in furniture. Kate and Derek never fight about money. They agreed on which private school to send Devon to, and they like to watch the same televison shows. As far as Kate is concerned you don’t fix what’s not broken. Kate has a life with Derek. But they don’t have a life together. Kate could have this life with another man and Derek doesn’t much think it would matter. Derek’s name is on Kate’s house title, not her body. 

Kate is white with anger when he tells her. She fidgets with the engagement ring she picked out for him to give her, her lips in a thin line. “Is this because he’s supposedly dying, Derek?” She asks, her voice hushed. Devon is napping in the other room. “Is that it? If you don’t claim him, he’ll die? He’s not your responsibility, Derek!” 

Derek looks at her sadly. “You don’t have to understand it.” He says softly. “I don’t expect you to. I’m sorry, I really am. Just know I’m leaving. This is final. Take the house, keep the cars. Just know- I mean this.” 

“Did Laura put you up to this?” Kate hisses, her blue eyes wide and furious. “She’s never accepted me. She’s probably just doing this for the team, Derek. You know how manipulative she is when it comes to dance, Derek. For God’s sake it’s just a stupid sport!” 

“Laura hasn’t said anything to me,” Derek says, sighing. “If you want to blame someone, blame me. This isn’t my sisters’ faults or Stiles’ fault. This is my fault, Laura. We never should have gotten married. I’m sorry. I guess I just... wanted this to be something it wasn’t.” 

Kate is crying now, seething and crying and Derek bites his lip, wishing there was a way to do this without hurting the mother of his child. 

“I can’t believe you’re doing this to our son.” She chokes. “I won’t believe it. Have an affair if you need to, Derek, but I’m not giving up on us, on our family. We were perfect before this omega showed up. You never needed an omega before. This is our life, Derek! I can’t believe you’re just throwing our life away! What am I supposed to tell people?” 

“Tell them whatever you want.” Derek says, tired. “But please, Kate, I’m trying to be honest with you. I’m not coming back. Our marriage is over. As for Devon- I love our son to want to give him the best father I can be. I can’t do that while still married to you.” 

Kate had hung up on him then. It was just as well. As painful as that was, it was nothing in comparison to the idea of being without his mate. Derek knew he was willing to light himself on fire to keep Stiles warm. Even if Stiles never came around, never decided to give him a chance, he’d rather be free and keep hoping, than married with no chance.


	22. Off-Season

The team physicians won’t clear him to compete so Stiles takes a flight back to Beacon Hills and holes up in his condo. He spends most of his waking hours doing yoga and lifting weights and ignoring all of Derek’s texts and voicemails. He deletes all of them without reading or listening. At night he soaks in baths of Epsom salt and chamomile.

Stiles calls his agent but he’s signed with the Loups for three season and apparently there isn’t a ‘my-asshole-teammate-turned-out-to-be-my- asshole-soulmate’ clause and the owners aren’t willing to renegotiate. Seeing as the majority of the owners are his wannabe in-laws, Stiles isn’t particularly surprised by this.

Away from Derek and the bright lights of competition season Stiles skin feels cooler, less itchy and fevered. He still feels weak and nauseous much of the time, but he can keep down juiced vegetables and fruits, and he’s sleeping a little better at night. It doesn’t feel like progress- his muscles still ache in some indeterminate, cloying way and he still can’t handle the noises of traffic outside, but he feels less like he’s actively deteriorating and more like he’s leveled out into a certain kind of predictable misery.

When the team gets home Boyd and Erica come over frequently with fresh fruit and veggie trays and tins of fragrant loose teas. Boyd helps Stiles stretch out every night while Erica watches them from the couch, a Will Ferrel movie on in the background. There are frequent deliveries to the condo of fruit bouquets and hampers from some gourmet soup company from Laura and Kenneth. One of the boxes has an envelope containing a large, childish scribble of a figure drawn in pink crayon with big eyes which Stiles figures is a loose approximation of himself, being held up by another figure drawn in purple which must be Boyd. The loopy sideways scrawl say, “Get Well Stiles- Devon.”

The teams trainers visit him every day and Stiles has some of his personal trainers coming too. The team leaves the next weekend and Stiles watches them loose two competitions in a row on ESPN. He swears at the TV and throws half a pineapple at the wall, but just like that his rookie season is done and the Loups are out of the playoffs. The only good thing about this is that Stiles doesn’t have to go back to the Loups’ studio until August and he has the off-season to go home, eight hours away from the Hales. Stiles half-heartedly calls his realtor and has her purchase a luxury, sound-proof condo in his home town less than three miles away from Joesy’s studio. He has them move in a California king Tempurpedic mattress and a bed frame, along with a large sectional in the living room, a big screen TV, and a coffee table. He doesn’t bother with the rest of the house. It’s not like he’s planning on having a lot of visitors. He’s really not in the mood to think about artwork and rugs and curtains and all the shit that makes a house a nest.

The night before Stiles is supposed to drive the Jeep back to his hometown he dozes off in front of the TV, only to be awoken by the obnoxious sounds of TMZ. He opens his eyes and sees an aerial shot of Derek’s sprawling Beacon Hills mansion, along with some paparazzi shots of Laura and Derek in dark glasses leaving the airport.

“Older sister and former Loups’ captain, Laura Hale reportedly sent her personal assistant to go with mom, Tatiana Hale, to the house to collect Derek’s things.” The obnoxious host says over the flashing photos. “According to our sources Derek’s estranged wife, media heiress, Kate Hale will stay in their 4.5 million dollar Beacon Hills mansion with the couples’ three-year-old son, Devon. Meanwhile, Derek was seen out with big sister, Laura, and little sister, Cora, visiting a luxury auto dealer this weekend. Derek picked up a new, family friendly Lexus RX Hybrid SUV, while the sisters reportedly surprised their lucky brother with a custom detailed, 2012 special 45th anniversary edition Camaro.”

“Those Hale women like to do it big.” The other host comments.

“They certainly do, Jack!” A platinum blonde woman exclaims. “A source close to the family says Derek is moving into Laura Hale’s guest house while he considers building a new residence.”

“Any more on the allegations that the cause of the split was due to star rookie omega, Stiles Stilinski?” Jack asks and an old, grainy photo from one of Stiles’ childhood competitions pops up in the background. In it his wrist is as bare as the day he was born and obviously touts’ Derek’s name like the worst tramp stamp ever. Stiles groans and stuffs his head into a couch cushion.

“The Stilinski camp is not commenting about this, Jack.” The woman says brightly. “Of course the rookie omega was having an incredible first season until health problems caused the Loups to withdraw him from competition during the playoffs. There have been rumors buzzing all over the OANDL that Stiles’ health complications are due to a pretty serious omega drop, Jack, but the Loups run a tight ship and nothing can be substantiated. We do know Stiles is returning home during the off season to train with his former coach, Olympian, Joe Johnson. We here at TMZ along with the dance world hope Stiles gets well soon so we can see him dominate in the league once again.”


	23. Alive and Kicking

The first thing Stiles does when he gets home is take a page from the Hale play book and buy his dad dinner and a new truck. The Sherif had welled up like Stiles didn’t owe him this and more for all the sacrifice he’d made over the years driving Stiles to practices and competition, putting up with reporters. Stiles tells him it’s really for him, that Stiles will feel better while he’s competing if he knows his dad has a safe vehicle. Stiles gives his dad a side hug. He’s afraid to hug him straight on. Afraid of his dad feeling every bone in his son’s body under the layers of sweatshirts and gauze. The sherif looks at him intently all through dinner, but he doesn’t ask, and Stiles isn’t about to tell. 

Boyd calls him that night and Stiles only pick up reluctantly because he doesn’t want to see a giant pissed alpha and his sleep deprived blonde omega on his doorstep demanding to come in for a wellness check in eight hours.

“What?” Stiles snaps into the phone, not bothering with a greeting. 

“Still alive and kicking, I see.” Boyd answers dryly. “How’s the new condo?”

“I don’t know.” Stiles says testily. “It’s a condo. What do you want?”

“A friend can’t call to see that his dumbass friend made it home alright?” Boyd laughs.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Is Laura Hale standing behind you with a gun to your head right now?”

Boyd sighs, “The Hale’s aren’t the only ones who care about you, Stiles... actually it’s Erica with the gun to my head. And by gun I mean she threatened to make me sleep on the couch.”

“Well, you can tell her I’m still alive enough to be pissed off by my dumbass friend insinuating that I’m the one who’s the dumbass, dumbass.” Stiles laughs. “How’s off-season training going?” 

“Eh, it’s going.” Boyd says. “I’m headed out to Junior Nationals this week to scout alphas for the team. We’ve got some charity performances coming up. I’ll get to dance with Erica again, so that’s cool. She doesn’t kick me as much as your stupid ass does.” 

“Fuck you,” Stiles snorts. “She puts up with you, so in my book she’s a bonafide angel.” 

“Yeah,” Boyd sighs. “She’s pretty great.”

Stiles smiles into the phone fondly. “After things calm down you guys should come up here. You can train with me for a while. I think I need a reminder of what functional looks like.” 

“She’d like that,” Boyd says. He pauses, sighing. “We miss you- the whole team does. We care about you, man. We want to help.”

“It’s not that easy,” Stiles says, low and tense. “And you can’t understand- none of you can understand. It’s just... it’s just so hard-“

“Fuck you, it’s hard.” Boyd says. “It’s hard because you’re making it hard, Stiles. So things haven’t been perfect- well life isn’t perfect, no matter how much you train and plan, or how much you visualize how things are supposed to be. Sometimes you take a fall, man. You can be the greatest athlete in the world, but you’re still human so you’re still going to mess up. Look- I love Erica. She smells good. She looks good. She talks good- and she has my name on her wrist. It’s that simple- it’s not easy, but it’s simple. I’m still in the game- she’s retired. We don’t see each other for weeks on end sometimes and her old man fucking hates me, but every time I think about her I’m just so goddamn grateful she’s mine I don’t question the details. I’m not trying to tell you how to live your life, but I want you to live one because you’re my friend and you deserve it, Stiles. I want you to stop jacking off to your own damn misery and look at what you have. Derek’s made bad choices in the past, Stiles, but he’s made a clear one now. And I may be full of shit, but I know you and I don’t think you ever really had one to make.” 

“He has a child, Boyd.” Stiles hisses. “This isn’t about me. It shouldn’t be about me.”

“People get divorced, Stiles.” Boyd says. “Betas do it every day. They get divorced and the kids live. But how often do people fall in love like this?”

Stiles is silent for a long time. He feels like his skin is on inside out.

“Are you still there?” Boyd asks.

“I’m fine, Boyd.” Stiles says, his voice all but dead. “I’ll be fine.”

“Alright,” Boyd sighs. “Erica and I will come visit in a few weeks. Say hi to your dad for me.”

Stiles hangs up and sits on his bed for a long time afterward staring at the blank wall in front of him trying not to forget what happened to him and why things are the way they are now.


	24. Beautiful Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ((Beautiful Pain))  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4bqBA9ZkMg0

Stiles wakes up early the next morning and pulls on a grey tank top and a pair of his favorite clinging, soft dance pants. He drives over to Joesy’s studio at the ungodly hour with a mug of black coffee and bunch of sports drinks. Stiles still has a key and he lets himself in and turns on the lights in the familiar building, feeling at ease, at home. Nothing has changed in the studio since he was last here and it brings him back to last year, before he joined the Loups, before the drop, before Derek kissed him. 

He walks into the smallest studio, a one far down where he knows Joesy and the staff doesn’t teach class in the mornings, and connect his phone to the speaker system. He stretches out against the barre, sipping his coffee, and feeling his muscles wake up in the silence. There is a simplicity to this and he’s happy to be back in his home studio, surrounded by familiar scents, working a familiar barre, his own man for the time being.

Beautiful Pain comes on, Eminem’s voice staccato and angry and filled with a growling, clawing pain. The rapper attacks every word, every syllable like a starving caged animal and Stiles surrenders himself to the hot, pulling beat, throwing his body into tight, control movements, losing himself to the strain of his muscles and the chase of oxygen. There is no alpha to get between him and the floor, no buffer against Stiles and the music, no distractions of bigger, longer limbs framing his every move, keeping him on point, and signaling his next hit. And Stiles hits hard, clean and heavy. He shreds the beat, every movement a killing blow- more fight than dance. There is nothing dignified about this, nothing reserved or poised. Stiles plays dirty with the music, ignoring tradition, his body seizing in some kind of lyrical krumping. He’s home in his own studio and nobody is going to tell him how to dance, how to move, or not to dominate the music. The floor is his right now and he owns it. 

Stiles is spinning out and he sees something new out of the corner of his eye. He freezes mid flight, clumsily trying to recover himself from the spin out. A compact beta with strawberry blond hair in sweats and a black tank top is looking at him from the studio doorway. Stiles puts his hands on his knees for a minute, trying to catch his breath, still looking at the stranger, before walking over quickly and turning down the music.

“Can I help you?” He asks.

The beta blinks, but recovers quickly, entering the studio with a shy sort of smile on his face. “I’m sorry,” the stranger says, flushing. “They told me you were coming, but- wow, I can’t believe I’m seeing you in person.”

Stiles isn’t sure what to say to that, but then he hears a familiar yelp, and Scott is barreling through the studio doors like a puppy, throwing himself around Stiles.

“Stiles!” He shrieks. “You’re finally here! Christ-“ he steps away giving Stiles a look, “you smell like death. When did you get in?”

“Last night,” Stiles says, grinning back at his old friend. “Look at you! It’s almost like you’re a real alpha now.”

Scott snorts and then turns to the stranger, “Oh!” He says quickly. “Stiles this is Jordan Wall. Jordan- Stiles Stilinski.” Scott looks back at Stiles. “Jordan’s covering some classes here for the off-season. He’s a choreographer for the Beta National Dance League.” 

“Nice to meet you.” Stiles says, extending a hand to Jordan. “Am I taking your studio space?”

“No,” Jordan says, smiling back. “Usually I’m the only one here this early in the mornings.” He shakes his head, flushing. “Sorry, I’m just a little star struck. You’re an amazing dancer, man. I was so bummed when they took you out for the season. You’re the best part of watching the Loups.”

“Well, I’m heading back next season.” Stiles says. “Hopefully they’ll clear me to compete soon. I don’t want to loose my edge. All this sitting around since playoffs has made me soft.”

“Not from what I saw,” Jordan says, his blue eyes huge. “I mean- wow. I’ve never seen an omega- or anyone dance like that before.” 

Stiles laughs a little, with self-deprecating grin, “I don’t really like to dance standard when I warm up, you know? Get enough of that during the season.”

“Nothing about you is standard, man,” Jordan says. 

“Hey-“ Scott puts his hand on Stiles’ arm. “It’s good you’re both here. I was going to ask you, Stiles- I know I said I would help you stunt during the off season, but Manes got called out on an artist in residence thing in NY, and Joesy has me picking up extra classes. Is it okay if Jordan helps you out instead? I know he’s not an alpha, but he’s pretty strong and you look like you’ve dropped a lot of weight.”

“You don’t mind, do you?” Stiles looks over at the beta questioningly. 

“Mind?” Jordan’s face breaks out in an easy grin. “It would be an honor, man.”

“Okay,” Stiles agrees, not wanting to be difficult. “Should be no problem, Scott.” 

“Great!” Scott says, smiling gratefully. “You’ll get along great. Jordan really knows his shit.” 

“Hey, I got a class to teach this morning.” Jordan says. “But I have the afternoon free if you wantto work then.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees. “I usually lift in the mornings anyways. I see you then.”

“Cool.” Jordan smiles. “See you then. Can’t wait.”

Scott is right- he and Jordan do get on well. Stunting isn’t as easy as it is with Boyd; physically Jordan is different than any alpha Stiles has ever worked with, but he isn’t constantly remarking on how emo Stiles smells either and Stiles isn’t wondering if or when Jordan is going to hit a sugar low and alpha out all over the studio. Jordan doesn’t start play fights with the other teachers and he doesn’t seem to think smacking someone hard across the back is a sign of affection, but they laugh a lot and he always lets Stiles pick the music.

They break into an easy routine, Jordan, Scott, and Stiles. Nobody pushes food in his face or reminds him to keep hydrated. The fruit bouquets and food hampers seem to have magically found their way over to his new condo, a constant reminder of his Loups family and that another competition is out there and waiting. Laura has also signed Stiles up for a fresh flower delivery club. Stiles sets each bouquet on the front desk at Joesy’s studio next to the Loups pennant Joesy’s had proudly displayed since Stiles went pro. He still gets texts and calls from Derek, but the flow has trickled down to about three a week. Stiles doesn’t read them, but he doesn’t block Derek’s number either. Stiles starts helping Scott and Jordan teach classes once in a while and sometimes all three of them teach the senior alpha/omega pas de duex class, Stiles being throw back and forth between Jordan and Scott like some kind of doll. The two larger men end up with goofy looks on their faces, laughing more often than not, while Stiles scowls and lectures the students on the importance of work ethic. Things are easy. Stiles’ headaches and body sweats still come with regularity, and he may never be able to eat fried foods again, but it’s the kind of discomfort he could get used to, like a chronic allergy. Life still feels somewhat colorless, but it least it has music again.


	25. Little Lauras

Stiles is sitting in some kind of sorted, satanic den of hair spray and Swarovski crystals with tiny junior national platinum blonde beta champion, Autumn perched on one side of his lap, and omega junior national champion, Bianca on the other. Stiles is curling Bianca’s thick, sandy locks with a hot iron, three bobby pins stuck in his mouth. There is an art to competition hair, and Stiles is pretty sure he can’t do anything Bianca’s mom can’t do, but he can’t say no to those big amber eyes for the life of him, and if he has to hear one more mother/daughter cat fight over hair today he’s going to retire and move to... some place where little girls are illegal. There are about twenty other little champions crowded on the green room floor, doing a test run of the new styles for the next competition season, and Stiles still can’t figure out how he got bullied into this. 

“Gabi Englebret is the pro best flyer right now.” Bianca informs Autumn, her serious little face looking a little cat-eyed with the effort of Stiles pulling her hair into place. “The best girl, I mean.” She amends. “Stiles is the best flyer in the world.” 

Stiles laughs at this and almost swallows a bobby pin. 

“Erica Reyes was way better than Gabi.” Autumn snorts, her upturned nose letting Bianca know exactly where she can stick it. “Laura used to throw her sooooo high. Gabi’s legs are too big to get that high.” 

“Gabi has perfect form.” Bianca counters. “And this is about stunts- not about alphas. Laura was the best alpha.” 

Stiles smiles down at the two girls. They’re both little Lauras in the making. He pulls the last of Bianca’s hair back and says, “Close your eyes- spray.” 

She does obediently, but she doesn’t stop talking. “When I grow up I’m going to be signed with the Loups like you, Stiles. My alpha is going to throw me so high.”

“I’m sure you’ll make me look like an auk, Bi.” Stiles says, laughing.

“What’s an auk, Stiles?” Autumn asks, scrunching her face up at the hair spray smell.

“A flightless bird.” Jordan’s voice comes from over his shoulder, and all three of them look up at him, smiling. “Come on, girls. You’re going to kill Stiles with the fumes in here.”

“You don’t understand, Jordan.” Bianca says, pouting. “You’re a boy!” 

“Hey-“ Jordan laughs, reaching down to pick Autumn up and deposit her, standing on the floor. “What do you think Stiles is?”

Autumn and Bianca look at each other fiendishly, giggling. “Stiles isn’t a boy!” Autumn cackles.

“Yeah,” Bianca agrees gleefully evil in only the way little divas can be. “Stiles is a princess!” 

“Okay,” Stiles says, setting Bianca off his lap. “I think your hair is as good as it’s going to get. Time to go show mom.”

“Listen to Princess Stiles,” Jordan says, his face splitting into a shit eating grin. 

The girls collapse into laughter at this and Stiles tackles Jordan down on a mercifully empty couch. Of course all the little girls find this endlessly hilarious, and Stiles hams it up for them, putting Jordan in a headlock, swatting at him with somebody’s orphan ballet slipper. They tussle around, sending hot rollers and sequins everywhere. 

“Oh my god!” Bianca says, gasping with laughter. She has a pink iphone out and is snapping pictures. “This is SO going on Twitter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As previously stated a lot of the side details of this fic come from my life and my childhood. This was a particularly nostalgic chapter for me because my mom used to do my competition hair every year and I would whine and bitch the whole time. A lot of the guys I danced with did learn how to do comp hair over the years. I think I've fought with my mom over hair more than anything else ever.


	26. One Last Moment

Little girls, man. Stiles should have known this was how it was all going to end. Not home three weeks and taken down by a tweet like some kind of teenaged pop star. 

Not that there was anything scandalous or particularly explicit about the photos Bianca posted, but soon they were all over OANDL blogs and sports websites. Everywhere in the dance world there are photos of omega star, Stiles Stilinski pinning choreographer, Jordan Wall in a headlock. Stiles and Jordan tangled on a couch together. Jordan with one knee on Stiles’ back, Stiles wriggling and cracking up, trying to get free. Pretty innocent to the average bystander. They were in a room filled with children, after all. 

About two days after the tweet of doom, Stiles is sleeping on the green room couch in the mostly deserted studio when he’s woken up by turbulent voices coming from the lobby. He moans and rolls off the couch quickly, jogging to the front, hoping he’s not about to interrupt a very poorly thought out burglary. 

He walks in just in time to hear Scott snarl in an uncharacteristically angry voice, “Not so great when the shoe is on the other foot- is it, Derek!” 

Well, nothing about that sentence heralds good news, but what he isn’t expecting to see is Boyd in the lobby of his home studio attempting to restraint an snarling, bristling Derek, his veins rippling in his neck, all sharp, white teeth pointed in the direction of a very irate looking Scott and Jordan. Scott is all puffed up in a way Stiles has never seen him, and Jordan is stoned faced, glaring at the two pro athletes heatedly. 

“Where the hell is my omega?” Derek roars, sounding more beast than man. “I know you have him! Where is he?” 

Boyd sees Stiles walking towards him and shoots him an apologetic look. “Okay, for the record-“ he calls out, “I tried to stop him from doing this.” 

Derek sees Stiles and lunges at him, tearing himself away from Boyd with a near manic effort. The enormous, seething alpha doesn’t see Jordan throw himself in front of Derek’s war path and the two collide with a terrific clash of muscle and weight. Derek throws Jordan roughly to floor with a harsh snarl, but the beta is up again almost immediately, his face red and twisted in anger. Boyd’s launched himself back on Derek by now too. He has his captain under the arms, Derek growling and fighting him with every move. 

“Don’t do it, man.” Boyd says to Jordan, wrestling Derek’s heaving body back. “Whatever you’re thinking- drop it and step off. You don’t want to know what happened to the last beta that got in between these two psychos.” 

“Yeah, she ended up with Derek’s house and his car.” Stiles notes dryly, placing himself in front of Jordan. He rounds on Derek. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He asks, glaring at the snarling alpha.

“Stiles!” Derek lets out his name with a grating sort of moan, staring at him with intense, longing eyes. 

“No!” Stiles snips, not letting himself be cowed by such an obnoxious display. “You don’t ‘Stiles’ me! What the fuck are you doing? You can’t just do this! What the fuck are you doing here?” 

Boyd lets go of Derek slowly. The alpha is still breathing heavily, but his face is mostly no longer homicidal. 

“What are you doing?” Derek growls, raising himself up to his full height and staring down at Stiles. 

“I’m training for off season! In my hometown! Like I planned! You’re the one who drove eight hours here, crashed the studio, and is acting like a fucking lunatic! Jesus- Derek! Is it even street legal for you to drive like this? You could have killed someone!” Stiles practically screams.

Derek huffs, looking completely unapologetic. “If you think I’m going to stand around while some other guy-“ 

“Oh my God!” Stiles interjects. “We are not having this conversation! You fucking hypocritical-“ 

“You’re mine, Stiles!” Derek says vehemently, taking a step towards him.

“ALLEGEDLY!” Stiles counters. He lets out a tortured breath, and grabs Derek’s arm. “I’ve embarrassed myself enough tonight. Get over here.” 

Stiles pulls his angry alpha into the green room, away from the others and slams the door. 

He turns to Derek, brimming with anger. “You have some nerve!” Stiles spits. “I can’t even... there are no words for how pissed I am at you right now!” 

“You should have known I would come.” Derek argues. “Putting that out there for the world to see. Ignoring me all this time! You should have known I would be here.”

“Yes, God forbid I have some fun without you there to fuck everything up!” Stiles throws his hands up. “How can you not get it? You are not part of my life! I do not want this! Not to mention how grossly inappropriate this all is. Showing up and alpha-ing out-”

“Like you haven’t done the same thing!” Derek challenges, getting in Stiles’ space, his eyes flashing. 

“Like hell-“ Stiles starts.

“What do you think an omega drop is, Stiles?” Derek says, his hands in the air too now. “It’s a goddamn cry for help!”

“Yes! An... existential cry for help! That wasn’t a personal plea for you to dump your wife and loose your fucking mind!” Stiles shoots back.

Derek looks at him, chest heaving. Then he sinks down on to the couch and puts his face in his hands. 

“I don’t know what to do, Stiles.” He says and his voice is rough and soft at the same time. “You’re sick without me. I can feel it all the time now. I wake up at night feeling your aches, your tremors. Even from eight hours away I can feel you needing me and I’m not there and it goes against everything in me. I panic twenty times a day that today is the day that pushes you over, that I’ll find out you’ve gone into a coma or just collapsed somewhere. I’m sick without you too.” His whole body shakes, just once. “You hate me. I’ve made you hate me and I don’t know what to do about it.” 

Stiles sits down next to Derek, not touching, but able to smell his deep, anguished scent, hear his alpha’s pained heartbeat. Stiles’ whole throat is choked up, his tongue feels too big in his mouth, and there is such a deep, sharp pain in his insides, he can barely breathe. His alpha is at a loss. His soulmate is hurting and no matter what Derek has done, Stiles can’t help but feel his heart break a little more. Stiles knows what Derek doesn’t and it kills him. He reaches out and puts a tentative hand on Derek’s back. 

“Derek,” he says gently, and Derek raises his face to look at him. Derek’s eyes are wet and filled with misery. “I need you to listen to me, okay?” Derek doesn’t break eye contact, jut stares at his omega. “I need you to hear me out. Really listen to me.” Stiles takes a shuttering breath, feeling himself crumble from the inside out. But through the pain Stiles knows he has to continue, has to get this out, because his alpha is lost, his alpha doesn’t know what to do and only Stiles can do this. “Derek- I love you. I’ve loved you before I saw you for the first time. I’ve loved you for as long as you’ve been on my arm. You’ve been a part of me since before I was born. And I will always love you. But we can’t do this Derek.” Stiles feels tears begin to well in his eyes, hot and unstoppable. “I can’t do this Derek. Maybe this was just never in the cards, you know? And I don’t want you to look back and wonder if things might have been different because they’re not different and now I don’t know how to do this.” Tears are falling freely from Derek’s eyes too now, but he’s still looking at him and he’s still listening. “I’m not going to die, Derek. I’m going to be okay. Things have gotten better- they really have. I’m going to be fine. I know I’m going to be fine. But I want you to go.” Stiles lets out a small sob, but continues because he needs to do this. “And I want you to be happy and raise that little boy and be the father I know you are. I can’t do this and it’s not about you and it’s not about Kate- it’s about me.” He breaks off, feeling himself dying a whole new kind of death inside, but also knowing somewhere, somehow that this is right. “I love you, Derek. And if you love me... you’ll let me go.” 

Derek looks in his eyes through the tears, clearly feeling every raw, terrible, final hurt Stiles has in him and then he nods, just once. 

“Thank you.” Stiles breathes, and Derek collapses into him, folding his head in Stiles lap, his body wracked with silent sobs. And Stiles curls in on him, wrapping his arms around him, all the while thinking this is the last time he’ll ever hold his mate.


	27. Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ((Broken- Derek's Solo))  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=srRRYZpb6Mg

In retrospect, Stiles has always known he was broken. It makes a sick kind of sense now. From the beginning nothing has been normal for him, nothing has been easy. From coming out of his doomed mother with a fully formed name, to recognizing his alpha over the goddamned TV before he even hit puberty, to being apparently unusually susceptible to drops, Stiles has never been one of those professional athletes with a charmed life, with a clear road, with a safety net. Stiles has stunted with the best alphas in the game, and still after all this time he’s flying alone. All that lies between Stiles and oblivion is himself, and it as terrifying as that is, Stiles knows that’s the safest option available to him. Stiles doesn’t want to go back to being that eleven year-old omega who had trusted with closed eyes and an open heart, had relied on his alpha to come heal him and make him better. Ignorance is bliss, but the fall after is too hard, too painful, and Stiles knows he won’t recover from another one. He can’t take that chance ever again.

But it’s settled now. Derek is gone. He’s agreed to leave Stiles alone, and Stiles can finally get used to this and not wonder what could be, what’s going to happen next, what fresh pain in around the corner. Stiles can have some certainty now, and that’s good enough.

After Derek leaves Scott and Jordan don’t ask. Jordan watches him more carefully, as if he can discern what happened in the shape of Stiles’ movements across the dance floor, the way he steers his Jeep when they car pool on the way to studio. He inundates Stiles’ phone with texts every evening. He starts bringing Stiles chilled bottles of water in between classes, and hot americanos in the morning. Stiles smiles and thanks him like each offering doesn’t bring up a thousand sharp, painful memories. He still gets up in the mornings. He still stretches out in the same order, his nose to the hallowed dance room floor. He still helps Scott and Jordan teach, and he still puts everything he has into his dancing. Nothing has changed since last month or last week. His night sweats and stomach aches stay with him like a shadow in summer. The headaches come, dependable as Stiles’ own breathes, each reminding him not to get cocky, that Stiles is human. And because Stiles is human, even he can’t have it all. It was stupid to believe at one time, that he could. Every day now is the first day of the rest of his life. Stiles can get used to it. After all, nothing has changed.

Stiles has always liked routine. And Stiles can do routine. Stiles has always needed the toughest coaches on the planet because he’s a perfectionist at heart, and it takes a really good eye to find anything reproachable in his routines. He lives his life now the way he dances a competition solo number, each move deliberate and timed. And Stiles can do it. But he can’t bring himself to laugh right now. He can’t bring himself to smile. He can’t roughhouse with Scott or talk shit at the TV with Jordan. But it will get better. Every routine does with practice if you’re doing the right thing. And Stiles knows he’s doing the right thing, so he knows one day he’ll be able to do those things again.

Junior Nationals champion, Bianca is like a spider monkey with glitter gel, and she attaches herself to Stiles’ arm and hauls him into the green room one afternoon.

“Come on, Stiles!” She whines, her amber eyes taking up at least one half of her face. “The comp’s on!”

Stiles allows himself to be yanked onto the floor of the green room where Jordan, Scott, and a dozen of the hardcore students are sitting around the TV, staring at ESPN intently.

“What is this?” Stiles asks, only to be shushed by like four little girls.

“Welcome back to the International Alpha Invitational!” An older, tanned alpha in a bad toupee says broadly. “I’m your host, Terry Hayes and I’m here in the studio today with three time IAI champion and former captain of the Beacon Hills Danse des Loups, Laura Hale. Laura, your younger brother is the favorite here today, what can you tell us about the preparation that went into today’s routine?”

Laura Hale’s cultured face comes on camera, the flawless woman sporting a Chanel suit dress and several houses worth of Mikimoto pearls.

“As you know, Terry, the Loups are in off-season right now. When the season ended my brother went right into focusing all his energy into preparations for today’s competition.” Laura smiles photogenically, her teeth matching her jewelry. “My mother and my sister are both here to cheer him on. This is a highlight always a for us.”

The screen shifts to a shot of Tatiana and Cora Hale sitting in the stands, Devon perched in Cora’s lap, tugging on her hair.

“Now this is the first public appearance your family has made since Derek’s highly publicized divorce was announced.” Terry says, as if this isn’t a terrible thing to bring up on national televison. “How has the split effected Derek’s training? Should we expect to see changes over this next season?”

Laura blinks at him for a moment, her perfect media face cracking for one half second, but she back and smiling, all charm before you can blink. “Nothing has changed with Derek’s training schedule. You don’t get to his level without putting everything into it, but dance has always been a family thing for us and Derek has always been a terrific father. Cora takes Devon to the studio every day to watch his daddy dance, and Derek has even began teaching the little guy. He’s really good!” She laughs. “We will definitely be traveling with Devon to as many of the Loups’ competitions as we can this season. We had two parents in our home who were both dancers, Derek wants Devon to grow up like we did- surrounded by love and the Loups.”

“There you heard it, folks. The Hales carrying on their legacy of dance to the next generation.” The anchor grins. “Now back to the floor where American, Derek Hale is about to start his solo routine, here at the International Alpha Invitational in Rolling Meadows.”

Stiles had completely forgotten about the IAI. He would have booked it right out of there if he hadn’t had two tiny dancers on his lap and two more hanging off his arms. He sees Derek take the floor, tall, formidable alpha grace incarnate. Stiles has danced in the same room, on the same floor as Derek countless times, but he’s usually distracted by his own movements or by Boyd, and he can’t remember the last time he really sat back and watched Derek perform. The low, longing chords of an electric guitar fill the room as Shaun Morgan’s raspy voice fills the room and Derek rises into motion. Derek is shirtless, and the camera catches every exquisite flex of his muscles, every deliberate twist and jerk of his spine. Stiles knows how these alpha solos are usually choreographed, all power moves and tricking. Derek is emanating a different kind of dominance here, all carnal precision and exacting hits. His body is raw, like a live wire, each of his moves grinding against the low music, embodying a certain sort of absolute and final desolation. Derek is drenched with sweat and his face looks... unabashedly devastated. Stiles gets up, shedding the girls before it’s over. The music follows him out of the room, haunting him like something dead and wanting.

_“Because I'm broken when I'm open/ And I don't feel like I am strong enough/ Because I'm broken when I'm lonesome/ And I don't feel right when you're gone away...”_


	28. April Showers

March turns into April and the rains come. With the constant downpours Stiles doesn’t smell much of anything anymore. He throws himself into the grind of training- his goals and aspirations reduced to getting through the next set, the next leg of his work out, the next meal, the next night. Stiles used to think big. He used to think about Olympic gold, winning the national cup, about his place in omega athletic history. Now Stiles thinks in terms of now. There is nothing like a chronic injury to keep you in the present. There are cycles, comfort in crutches. Every day it’s Red Bull Zero. Every night- half a bottle of Nyquil. The combination burns his stomach and leaves him feeling sour, so there is also about a gallon of skim milk in between. Stiles doesn’t need food, he doesn’t need sleep, he might not even need dance anymore, but he panics at the thought of running out of those three liquids. It’s not healthy. It’s not normal. But Stiles is done pretending he was ever either one of those things. And anyways- Stiles is the number one draft pick for the OANDL, he’s his own omega, he’s doing the right thing in every other aspect of his life so who the hell is anyone to judge?

The news breaks in early April and all of a sudden Derek’s custody battle is all anyone at the studio can talk about. Jordan and Scott try to shepherd him away discreetly from the gossip, but the students- bless them, don’t know it’s a sensitive subject. All reports indicate that Kate isn’t willing to sign the devoice papers. She’s photographed coming and going from the studio with Devon constantly. She and Derek are granted shared custody apparently. Courts generally frown upon alpha/beta unions, but Kate has an army of lawyers at her disposal and all major news sources indicate the couple has been court ordered to couples’ counseling before anything further can proceed with the divorce. Laura and Cora are mobbed by reporters coming out of the courthouse and the sisters make a brief, somewhat scandalous statement that while the Hales harbor no ill will against Derek’s estranged wife, they plead with her to respect Derek’s wishes for the sake of what’s best for both Derek and Devon’s health. Laura adds that the family is committed to the Loups and their personal affairs will have no bearing on this next season or Derek’s ability to captain the team. 

Stiles’ name is brought up a lot in the media, but nobody can confirm his involvement. Stiles can honestly say he has nothing to do with this- anymore. His days are simple here. Everything is measured in tablespoons and ounces. Stiles knows what to say and what to do to keep the trainers and Scott and Jordan off his back. 

One night in mid-April Stiles gets up, puts on his shoes and his coat and walks out the front door of his condo. He doesn’t know where he’s going or what he’s going to do when he gets there, but it seems like the only thing to do right now. And Stiles is living moment to moment.


	29. Interlude: Heather

Heather is a nurse specializing in omega health. She’s always had uncanny instincts- particularly when it comes to her patients. Heather has near supernatural senses of intuition and empathy. Heather can smell an omega’s scent once and recall it perfectly. Anything connected to the emotional center in her brain is seared into her for life. An omega, herself, Heather’s life’s work is helping the vulnerable members of her gender, but her true passion is her family. Lately, the family hasn’t been doing so well. 

When Heather gets up that morning she is sure something is very wrong. Somewhere out there, calling to her is the faintest hint of a vaguely familiar distress scent, teasing her like the lyrics to a songs she can’t quite recall. She puts on her clothes and shoes and grabs her purse without even thinking about it. She gets in her call and pulls on the freeway, driving north. Heather knows she’ll keep driving until she finds the source of that terrible scent. She doesn’t know why, but this is important and she needs to get there. 

Heather is drives for almost seven hours straight, stopping only to text her mate where she is. The scent gets stronger as she goes, but she still can’t quite put her finger on how she knows it. She’s smelt something like it before, she’s sure of it. Maybe not that exact scent but something familiar enough to be closely related. She knows the undertones, sweat and wood smoke. Whomever it is needs her help, and Heather will keep going until she finds him. 

She pulls off an exit when the scent hits her, pungent and pleading. Heather follows the increasing smell until she reaches a bus depot on the outskirts of some vaguely familiar city. Quickly parking her car, Heather climbs out and begins to jog through the small groups of people. The station isn’t very big or very busy at this time of day. Something in her memory has sparked and she knows this isn’t good.

“No, no... please, no...” She murmurs to herself as she maneuvers through the terminal, chasing the scent. Heather jogs through the building until she’s out back, rounding some corners until she’s in a relatively deserted niche in the building. There, lying on the floor, huddled and coatless, almost invisible to the casual eye is the source of the scent she’s been chasing all day, and the confirmation of her worst fear. She bends down to the body, calling out in as even of a voice as she can, “Stiles! Stiles! Can you hear me? Are you okay?” She realizes the omega is shaking violently and his eyes are rolled back in his head. Heather checks his pulse to find it thready and rapid. She grabs her cell phone and quickly dials emergency services. “Hello?” she says, anxiously. “I’m a nurse and I have an emergency! I need you to send help right away. I’m outside the Rapids bus station and I have a twenty year-old omega here suffering from a megalo-drop. I don’t know how long he’s been here or when it started, but it looks pretty bad. He’s been in a mezzo-drop for a few months but I was lead to believe it had stabilized.” She pauses, listening to the operator. “No, ma’am, he’s unmated. I don’t know who is responsible for him anymore. I can call someone, yes but it would be hours before anyone could get here. Thank you, please hurry.” 

Heather takes off her jacket and wraps in around Stiles snugly. She bundles up what part of him she can in her petite arms and tries to warm him, trying to stabilize his shaking with her small frame. At the movement Stiles lets out hoarse moan, his body blindly hitting out and kicking. Stiles heads begins to loll back and forth and he lets out frantic, unhappy whines. 

“Shhhh,” Heather says comfortingly, trying to hold the larger omega enough so he won’t hurt himself. “It’s okay, Stiles. Help is on the way, I promise.” 

Stiles whimpers and moans, thrashing as much as his weak body will allow, sightless and panicked. “No... no, no..” He whines, slurred and nearly incoherent, the megalo-drop forcing his mind into a fevered state completely unlike his usual demeanor. “Derek!” the names comes out in a stuttering sort of cry. “Derek...” 

Heather tries to blink back tears and hold him down. “I know,” she tells him, knowing he can’t understand. “I know... it’s hard...” 

The ambulance and paramedics arrive shortly thereafter and Heather flashes them her identification and credentials. Stiles thrashes even more at the introduction of all the new and foreign scents, screaming in incoherent gasps and wails, his whole body bucking and kicking out. Heather helps them gently strap him down and rides next to him on the way to the hospital, stroking his hair back and murmuring to him gently through his violent screams and sobs. 

Stiles is admitted to a private room in a closed omega ward as soon as they arrive. His face is beat red with exertion. He beats his fists against everything and nothing, screeching painfully whenever the nurses and doctors try to touch him. In the end they have to administer a tranquilizer shot. Stiles slumps back soon after, out and battle weary. Heather knows that they cannot rely on drugs for too long when it comes to a megalo-drop- omegas’ systems are under too much stress and cycle through them too quickly, but it does buy the nurses enough time to bathe Stiles’ fevered skin in a cool bath, apply soothing creams to his body, and lay him in specially padded bed, in a dark room designed with as little stimulation as possible.

After a few calls, the hospital had agreed to let Heather stay with him and continue overseeing what she could with his care. She looks up the number to the local police department and is transferred over to Sherif Stilinski. She explains who she is and that Stiles fell into a megalo-drop and is now in a closed hospital unit. She tells him she doesn’t know when Stiles will be cleared for visitors, but she intends to stay at the hospital and help with the case professionally and she’ll keep him apprized of any news. 

Stiles lays next to her, still out from the tranqus, and she takes his hand in hers. “Stiles,” She says softly, “I don’t know if you can hear me right now, but my name is Heather Hale. I’m Cora Hale’s wife. I need you to try to relax, Stiles. I need you to try to be calm. I know you’re so brave and so strong, but you need to let us help you now.” She feels tears welling up in her eyes. “We’ve never met until now, but I promise that whatever is scaring you, whatever pushed you over the edge- I’ll help you figure it out. But you need to come out of this drop, Stiles.” She sniffles and pulls out her phone, punching in a number. “Derek?” she says, crying softly. 

“Heather-“ Derek says through the phone. “What is it?”

“It’s Stiles, Derek.” She says. “I’m so sorry-“

“What happened!” Derek demands, his voice instantly tight. “Is he okay?”

“I tracked his distress scent. He was about an hour from his house without a car or a jacket or anything.” She says quickly. “He’s in a megalo-drop, Derek. We’re at the hospital now. They’ve sedated him, but he’s incoherent and violent. That’s how it is with a drop this severe. He can’t be around any noise or light right now- it’s too upsetting to him.” There is a long silence after this and then Heather thinks she hears something break in the background. “Derek?” She asks, tentatively. 

She hears her brother-in-law’s voice shudder and break. “Heather,” He says, and he doesn’t sound anything like the Derek she’s come to know in the last few years. He sounds utterly broken. “Heather- can you... I mean, if I don’t... if I don’t come, can you get him through this? I mean... will he live?” 

Heather sobs quietly, trying to keep her voice clear and brave. “I- I think so, Derek.” she replies, softly, her heart hurting for both her brother-in-law and his intended mate. “But Derek- please... you love him, I know you love him.” 

“Heather,” Derek’s voice is quiet. “I do love him. I love him so much, I don’t know how I’m... I can’t even think... But I promised Stiles I would let him go, Heather. He can’t make choices for himself right now, but I have to do what he would want... because that’s what you do when you love someone. So, if you think you can pull him through this... without me, I have to stay away.” 

“Okay, Derek.” Heather says, quietly. “I understand.” 

Heather calls Cora and her work before Stiles wakes up again, screaming and kicking like he’s trying to fight his way out of a nightmare. He vomits all over the bed, and it takes three nurses to restrain him and clean him up again. Heather sits by his side the whole time, wiping his face with soft, bamboo cloths and warm water, and trying to calm him as best she can. Heather’s attended many megalo-drops in her time as a nurse- they aren’t uncommon for young omegas who lose their mates early in life, but this is the first time it’s been a family member. Heather told her work she was taking time off to care for a sick omega family member in need of her expertise for the time being, and because she is a Hale, she’s cleared almost instantly. During the first twenty-four hours at the hospital, Heather leaves Stiles’ side only to call Cora, not wanting her wife to hear his screams. Stiles is wracked with sweat and his chest is heaving at a disturbing speed. In the rare moments when he loses steam and just blinks around the room, crying and uncomprehending of anything around him, Heather feeds him ice chips. He’s put on a drip soon after. During the first night, Stiles screams Derek’s name until he’s hoarse and he starts coughing blood. Heather sits beside him the whole time, knowing this is going to get ugly before it gets better. Sometimes she cries, but mostly she stays patiently next to the omega who was supposed to be her brother and holds his hand. Stiles’ body finally runs out of energy at hour 26 and he falls into a fitful sleep soon after. 

It goes on like this for a few days, Heather sleeping in a cot they’ve brought for her and overseeing his care. She calls Stiles’ dad frequently with updates, but it isn’t safe for Stiles to have visitors yet and he wouldn’t recognize them if they came anyways. Stiles wails and screams when he has the energy, in raw, unabashed panic, and sobs, limp and mournful when he doesn’t. Heather keeps applying soothing creams to his inflamed skin, and helping the other nurses bathe him. A doctor comes in three times a day to make sure nothing out of the ordinary is going on. Heather begins playing soft classical music in the background and it seems to calm him. The nights are the worst, Stiles calls out for Derek as if his name is the only word he knows. He stares at her, hopeless and anguished, as if she can tell him why Derek won’t come. Heather washes his face and tries to sound comforting. A week goes by like this, and then ten days. One morning Heather wakes up and realizes they’ve both slept about six hours in one go. Stiles looks at her from the bed, his eyes still huge and red and uncomprehending, but he isn’t kicking or thrashing violently anymore. Instead, Stiles is silent and dejected and Heather knows he’s going to pull through this. Heather knows it’s only a matter of time before he comes back to himself and returns to some version of normal.


	30. Given Up

Stiles comes to slowly, feeling the edges of his nightmares fading away. All he can remember is being lost, adrift in dark, turbulent waters, each wave the size of a sky scraper. He remembers kicking and thrashing through the monestrous ocean, trying to keep his head above water, knowing all the while that he must find something that he’s lost in the endless, bottomless waters, but he cannot remember what it is and he’s hopeless of ever finding it again in the limitless wet hell. He remembers stopping treading water after what feels like an eternity, surrendering himself to remaining there in the abyss forever. 

Stiles opens his eyes. The room is dim, muted, and smells too sterile and austere to be anything other than a hospital. His body is stiff and dully aching as if he’s been pulverized with a meat hammer and then knocked out cold on concrete. He feels a thousand knots in his complaining muscles, like he’s held them rigid for days. There is a faint orange light coming from a lamp overhead and a strangely familiar looking omega nurse sitting beside him, holding his hand. 

“Hi Stiles,” she says softly, smiling at him, and her voice is familiar, like an old television show. “It’s good to see you back with us. How are you feeling? On a scale from one to ten how is the pain?” She stands up and leans over to push the button to notify the nurse’s station.

“Uh,” Stiles groans. His throat feels raw and torn up. “A six? What happened?”

“You’re in the Rapids Hospital omega unit.” The nurse says, walking over to get a cup of ice chips and a spoon from his bedside table. “You’re pulling out of a megalo-drop. You were outside a bus station and completely incoherent when you were found. It’s going to be okay, now. You’ve been getting better everyday.” 

Stiles looks down, unbelieving. A megalo-drop. He had likely been playing with fire for the last few months but he’d had it under control... he’d been moving on. A megalo-drop. He looks up at the nurse quickly. “How long have I been out?” He asks, horrified. “Did I hurt anyone?”

Heather sits down again next to him and pushes the ice chips towards him. “You’ve been out for thirteen days.” She says. “You didn’t hurt anyone, but you’ll be sore for some time, I would guess. You’ll have to take it easy for a while.” 

Stiles frowns, still trying to wrap his head around the whole thing. He’d learned about megalo-drops in school. They were rare- so rare it had never occurred to him to even worry about it. An average drop, sure, but a full on blackout, two week temper tantrum of helplessness and paranoia? It was unthinkable. Omegas historically went into megalo-drops out of sheer survival. It was a biological response that signaled to their mates, in times extreme cases of stress, to come home from war or hunting or whatever. It usually only happened now to young, fertile omegas in grief- not fully cognizant champions who were trying to make a mature life choice. Fuuuuuuuuck. 

He almost chokes on the ice. He looks a Heather. “What did I- what did I do?” He asks, flushing.

Heather looks back carefully, her face revealing nothing. “Typical megalo-drop behavior for any omega, I guess.” She says. “You were very upset. You screamed a lot, so you should keep taking that ice.” She pauses, looking down and a little sad. “You called out for your alpha.”

“Oh.” Stiles grimaces, looking down at his bare wrist. He figured he might. It was a distinguishing part of megalo-drops if he could remember correctly. “Yeah. We’re not... we’re not mated. I mean, he’s not dead or anything, but we’re not... doing that.” 

“I know,” she says kindly. “I’m Heather Hale, Stiles. Cora Hale is my wife.”

“Oh!” Stiles looks up, sharply. “So you know... you know Derek and I...” 

Heather looks at him again and she can’t hide the sorrow in her eyes. “Yes, I know.” 

Stiles is silent for a moment, letting this new revelation sink into his hazy mind. He looks around suddenly, searching the room quickly with wide eyes. It’s a standard omega intensive care room, very little light and no color. Heather’s is the only familiar scent he can detect. The rest is all hospital soaps and misery. He sinks back down in the bed and feels Heather take his hand.

He stares into his lap silently, unable to bring himself to look at her. “Did you-“ he starts quietly, “Did you call Derek?”

“Yes,” Heather says. “He said you wouldn’t want him to come.”

“I don’t.” Stiles says quickly, searching her face for proof that she believes him. “I don’t. He was right.” He swallows. “Good.” 

The doctor comes in then and Stiles wordlessly allows them to check him over, his eyes distant and dim. He had thought over the last few years he had been broken so many times, there was nothing left in him that wasn’t scar tissue. Stiles doesn’t understand the ache in him now that has nothing to do with his muscles, nothing to do with his body. The drop is over now. He’s out of it. He can dance again. He has everything back to the way it should be. And Derek isn’t here- as it should be. Stiles fought him and fought him and now Derek’s given up on him. His wrist doesn’t matter. Derek’s wrist never mattered. Stiles has finally succeed in doing what, maybe part of him had never really thought was possible. He pushed Derek past the point of no return and now Stiles feels, for the first time in his entire life, like he really doesn’t have a mate. A mate would have answered his call regardless of what anyone said. Stiles thought he’d been alone all this time, and now his had solid proof- confirmation from the universe. Derek had given up on him, on them. He’s simultaneously angled for and fought this day, and now Derek has finally alpha-ed up and taken the choice out of his hands.


	31. Impossible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ((Impossible))  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DU1JpFAesvY

Impossible. Derek’s life is full of the impossible. In every other way except one, it’s in a good way. Derek was born into the most incredible family. His sisters and sister-in-law are more beautiful, more brilliant, more loving than any brother has any right to expect from three women in their twenties. They taught him how to protect. Derek’s parents are strong. They gave him a picturesque childhood, a place in the community, a way to hold his head high. They taught him how to lead. Derek’s team is amazing. A true extended family. They listen to him, they respect him, they support his judgements, and take his losses as their own. They’ve taught him to persevere. Devon is a miracle. His son, born from a woman whose deceit permeated every level of his life until Derek himself became nothing more than an infected, selfish wreck, unable to see past his own desires, his own warped sense of righteousness. Derek doesn’t know if Kate had once loved him with the all consuming, soul ache that Derek loves Stiles, or if she had just wanted to be a Hale, to take what hadn’t been hers to keep, or his to give away. But Devon is here now and how someone could bring him such joy from the one thing he thinks, every night when he goes to bed alone, may destroy him- he doesn’t know. Devon has taught him how and why to live. Everyone in his life has made him who he is and are responsible for any good he’s ever accomplished professionally or personally.

He has no right to be where he is now. He has no excuse for what happened with Stiles. He knows that. He knew how to be a better alpha, a better man and he wasn’t. And if he has to sit with this pain the rest of his life, knowing his selfishness made him unworthy of the one thing Derek still selfishly wants more than anything in his life- he deserves it for not learning whatever he was supposed to in the first place. 

Stiles is done with him. Heather called Cora. She said Stiles is out of the drop and recuperating at home with his friends- no doubt the snippy little beta. Someone else will get to lick Stiles’ wounds and hide him away from the world. Someone else will get to make Stiles smile and give him everything such a sensitive, passionate, stubborn, impossibly wonderful omega like him needs. Somebody else will get to kiss Stiles until he forgets everything Derek ever did to him. Somebody else will live his life by Stiles’ side until he becomes Stiles’ true soulmate and the skin on Stiles’ skin is too wrinkled, too old and faded to even read Derek’s name. And Derek will stand aside because he should have known all along that it was impossible that someone like Stiles was meant for him. 

Derek sits down and thinks about everything he can’t do and everything he can’t say. He gets out a piece of paper and begins to write in the same terrible boxy scrawl that’s on Stiles arm. 

Stiles,

We are apart now, just like before we met. And just like then, there are so many things I want to say to you, and I can’t. Last time we saw each other you told me what you want for me, and I promise I’m trying every day to do those things- for you and for Devon. I know I can’t say this, that I have no right to say anything to you, but this is what I want for you. 

This time around, being without me, I hope you will forget me. I hope time and what I’ve done will erase me from you until I’m nothing more than one bad memory in a sea of a million good ones. I want this for you because I know I will never forget you and there won’t be a single day in my life where I won’t wake up and look for you lying next to me like you do in my dreams, and I know the only peace I’ll have when I see you aren’t there is knowing you’re somewhere better, happier. I want you to know that you started out as fate for me, but after I met you, after I was in your life and watched you dance and saw you conquer the world I couldn’t help but love you regardless of what was written on my wrist or yours. I would choose you in a thousand places, in a thousand circumstances, in a thousand times. I want to tell you that I’m going to live without you, even if it feels impossible sometimes, even if most days I don’t want to. I’m going to spend my life making myself worthy of Devon in ways I was never worthy of you. I want you to know I’m sorry for everything I’ve done. I still have this compulsion to run the tape of us over and over in my mind. Looking back, I know now that given where I was at the time and what I knew- I couldn’t have done anything differently. But I can want to. And even now when you know me for what I am and you hate me because of it, I know that you’re right. Things are not different from what they are, and some of us are fated by words on our wrists and some of us fall into our fates by the choices we’ve made. 

I want to thank you. I was right in a way, when I told you I couldn’t be the alpha or the father I want to be without you. You’ve made me better, not by you being mine, like I had selfishly thought, but by not having you. I know that kiss on national televison was mortifying for you but forgive me for not regretting getting to kiss you- if only once. Thank you for telling me you’ve loved me. I will keep that with me always. 

Lastly, I want you to know- I never gave up on us. I will never give up on us. Even if this hope is the one selfish thing I keep for myself, I will always still believe that we have a chance. I love you, Stiles. I know there will never be anyone other than you- ever. I will love you my entire life and I will go to my deathbed hoping you’ll come looking for me. Even when I know it’s impossible. 

Your Derek 

Derek sits back and folds the paper carefully and seals it in an envelope. What’s done is done.


	32. One Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ((Never Be Like Him))  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HfP1t55u4VE

Stiles sits alone in the dressing room, studying himself in the mirror. He doesn’t feel strong and he doesn’t think he looks it. His muscles are still there, there isn’t an once of fat left to his willowy frame, but the definition isn’t what it used to be. His skin is like resin, pale yellow and almost luminescent, like solid candlelight, making his lips look too pink, too fragile. It’s somewhat taboo for an omega to perform topless, but Stiles has decided to today, propriety be damned. He’s done hiding behind make up and costumes. He no longer cares who sees his scars, his bruises, the way his throat is a column unmarked by a mating scar. He’s wearing dark, indigo denim dance pants that ride low on his hips and no shoes. As a last thought, he takes off his wrist guard and winds a black silk scarf around his wrist instead.

It’s been four weeks since he left the hospital, and today is the annual Friends and Fans Danse des Loups Convention. The entire team is here with the coaches, the managers, and the owners signing autographs, interacting with the fans, giving interviews, and sitting on various panels. The PR department has decided that in light of the events of the off-season Stiles shouldn’t have any direct interaction with the media. He won’t be sitting at any tables for signing or giving interviews. He’s being sheltered closely from any stress or any situations that could be potentially disastrous. However, Stiles is arguably the biggest omega athlete right now and there’s no way he can be completely absent from today’s events without bringing undue attention to the team. He’s been escorted in late, after the convention started, through the back, ushered into a private dressing room and will be exposed to the public only for an exhibition solo performance.

He knows Derek is out there somewhere. He can feel him the way he can feel his own heart beating in his chest. If he lets himself sit still enough he can almost smell Derek’s protecting, wood smoke, home smell, but Stiles won’t let himself dwell on it. He takes a swig of water and turns as Jordan walks in.

“Hey,” Jordan calls softly, walking over with a smile. He leans down next to Stiles and looks at him in the mirror. Jordan’s hands come up and begin kneading the chronically knotted muscles in Stiles’ neck. “How you doing?”

Stiles looks down, “I stretched out. I’m ready.”

Over the last month Jordan has been Stiles’ constant companion. He picks Stiles’ up at the studio, works his program with him, and takes him back home at night. He brings Stiles breakfast and lunch every day despite Stiles’ protests, and has taken to massaging his aching back and feet whenever Stiles looks the least bit uncomfortable. He is always close by, always hovering, keeping the students and other teachers from asking too many questions, from being too loud. It’s not like Jordan to be so over-bearing, so hyper-vigilant, but it’s something Stiles doesn’t have the energy to mention, and Jordan is a good friend, so he lets it go, even when he wishes the beta would give him more space when they sit together and ask before he does things like rub Stiles’ sensitive omega neck.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” Jordan says. “You’re still tired much of the time.”

“I’m cleared to compete.” Stiles says, looking up in surprise. “My team asked me to perform at the convention. Of course I’m going to do this.”

“They’re only your team because of a stupid contract, Stiles.” Jordan presses. “Nobody can expect you to do them any favors when you asked to be released from the team.”

Stiles frowns, “I chose them when I signed with them at last year’s draft. I’m a dancer and the Loups are my team no matter what health problems I’ve had in the past. Athletes have health set backs all the time. The Loups are still my team.”

Jordan slides down in front of Stiles, kneeling beside him, still with one hand on Stiles’ neck. “I just don’t think it’s good for you to be out there with all those people.” He says, looking in Stiles’ eyes seriously. “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone, you know.”

Stiles’ narrows his eyes. “I’m a dancer, Jordan. This is my career. I’m going to dance.”

“I wish you would think about it.” Jordan says. “You have other options-“

“Are you trying to tell me what to do?” Stiles asks, disbelieving.

Jordan looks hurt. “I just think sometimes you’re lost, Stiles.” He says. “But you don’t have to do this alone.”

“Do what, exactly?” Stiles looks carefully at the beta, his mind racing. “Wait- is this why you’ve been bringing me food and acting all... weird and shit? Are you trying to _alpha_ me?” He stares at Jordan, disbelieving.

Jordan looks back at him earnestly. “I know you’ve been grieving, Stiles, and I don’t understand it. He was never good to you. He never cared about you.” Jordan looks frustrated. “He doesn’t deserve your grief, Stiles. I just... I just want you to know, I can be that for you. I know I’m not biologically an alpha, but I can be what you need, Stiles. I can learn. I can be twice the alpha to you that he ever was.” Jordan moves to take Stiles hand, but Stiles is already standing up.

“I... I...” Stiles looks at Jordan, a little shocked and unsure. Jordan was his friend- a good friend, but he couldn’t even begin to reconcile the way Derek effects Stiles wholly and completely by just walking into a room, the way Derek smells like the safest shelter, the way Stiles is so hungry to please and be touched by his alpha with anything he’s ever experienced with Jordan. Stiles is completely unable to do anything more than stare. “I’ve got to go.” He says, heading for the stage door.

“It’s because he’s out there, isn’t it?” Jordan says, his voice bitter. “Jesus, Stiles- I thought you were smarter than this.” Jordan looks down and Stiles can see his hand balled in a fist. “I thought you understood that Derek doesn’t love you. He doesn’t even know how.”

“This isn’t about him.” Stiles says, angrily. “Don’t talk about him. You know he and I are done. This is about me- me and my career.” He turns to head out to the stage.

“Go then,” Jordan says, his voice thick. “Go and let him keep almost killing you. I’ll be here when you wise up to clean up the mess like last time. I just hope it’s not too late.”

Stiles stiffens at the words, his back still turned to Jordan. Then he walks forwards to the stage. He’ll deal with this later.


	33. Powder Keg

The performance, thankfully, is over quickly. Jordan maybe wrong about everything else but he’s right to think that Stiles has been lost since the season ended. It’s surprisingly easy to get back into the flow of performance, to feel the hot stage lights on him, to let his muscle memory take over. The roar of the crowd had been deafening when he appeared on stage, and in some way it felt like coming home. It had been too dark to see the audience, but they screamed almost his entire time out there, so loud that Stiles had to start counting reps of eight in his head, as he was unable to hear the music. He could have been totally off for all he knows, but the fans don’t seem to care. The love is so overwhelming from the audience, Stiles regrets keeping himself so distant from the public over the last few months. Without his audience he wouldn’t have a career or a way to channel is passion and he owes them more than he’ll ever be able to say. After he struck his final pose, sweat running down his exposed torso, Stiles had bowed simply and quickly before flashing what felt like the first genuine smile he’s had in weeks, raising his hand to wave at the audience before walking off to go back to his dressing room, the mind-numbing din of the crowd following him all the way back. 

He opens the door and smells the familiar scent before he can even see Derek standing there, waiting for him.

Stiles stops short, trying not to gape. “Derek.” He recovers quickly, pulling a towel off the shelf, refusing to look at the towering alpha. “What are you doing here?”

There’s a long, breathless silence and then Derek’s deep, velvet voice. “I’m still your captain, Stilinski.” 

Stiles suddenly feels himself flushing deeply. He’d gone so long without smelling Derek’s scent. He’s forgotten how deeply it effects him physically. Stiles suddenly feels oddly self-conscious shirtless. He wraps a towel around his upper body discreetly before turning back to his captain with a carefully blank expression on his face. Stiles sits down on a bench, looking up at the alpha.

“That you are.” He says, his voice carefully toneless. “What do you want?” 

Derek looks down at him with an equally blank expression. To the outside viewer it would appear that to two are distant colleagues and nothing more. Derek isn’t blinking, but he isn’t openly threatening either. There is no sign of their last, emotional encounter in Stiles’ home studio. 

“The owners and coaches are concerned about you.” Derek says. 

Stiles’ eyes narrow. “Why?” 

“We start training camp in a week.” Derek says. “I have an unusual number of rookies coming aboard this season- three omegas and eight alphas. I’ll be very busy with integrating them into the team and I may not have the time to properly address any potential health problems you may have.”

Stiles makes a face before he can stop himself. “I was cleared for competition. The trainers say I’m fine. I’m totally out of the drop.” 

Derek stares back, his face betraying nothing but a stony coldness. “You and I both know you can convince the trainers and the doctors of anything you want to. Whether or not they sign off on your health is immaterial to me. You have a history of successfully hiding major health problems until they’re nearly catastrophic.” 

Stiles glares back, hating Derek’s tone, hating his patronizing, sterile words. “So is that why you’re here, Captain? To lecture me? Consider me thoroughly chastised.” He can feel one side of his upper lip start to curl in anger. “I’m sorry I made such a mess of your season, last year, Captain. Maybe some of your rookies will actually be worth a damn this year and I won’t have to carry the whole team into the finals-“ 

“That’s not why I’m here.” Derek’s icy voice cuts Stiles’ tirade off at the knees. The hulking alpha takes a step towards him. “The coaches and the owners are worried that you aren’t strong enough to handle training camp yet.” He pauses, looking a little unsure for the first time since Stiles’ walked into the room. “They know I’m uniquely... sensitive to you.” Stiles looks down in his lap. “They want me to... check you out. Make sure you’re really okay to start training.”

Stiles pulls the towel tighter around his torso without realizing it. He looks up at Derek boldly, his face impenetrable. “Well, as you can see, I’m fine.” He says quickly. “You can tell them I’m ready to work.” 

Derek stares at him impassively for what feels like an eternity, but Stiles refuses to look away. This is his career, he’s not going to let Derek sideline him again. Derek takes a slow step towards him and then another and another, all the while not breaking his stony eye contact. The large alpha sinks down next to him on the bench and slowly and deliberately reaches out, as if Stiles is a horse that might startle and Stiles finds himself unable to look away from the emotionless eyes, or move. The omega in him is frozen and can do little more than breathe deeply, and with increasing speed as Derek’s scent gets stronger and stronger. Derek gently peels the towel off Stiles’ chest, and his large hands are warm as the brush against Stiles’ suddenly over-sensitized skin. Stiles manages to look down and away, forcing himself to remain objective. It’s likely, if Derek’s expression is any indication, Derek isn’t exactly any more thrilled with this than he is. Stiles feels one of Derek’s large hands slid up the side of his neck, feeling for his pulse with a firm pressure. Another hand joins it on his neck and Derek’s fingers are palpating his glands and the hinge of his jaw, all firm, kneading pressure and it feels so good Stiles has to keep himself from making some kind of embarrassing noise. He can feel his heart speeding and beating in his veins and he can’t help but flush, mortified when he thinks about how he’s sure Derek can hear it too. Derek’s large hands have made their way to the back of his neck now and up to the base of his skull, probing and running over the knotted, sore muscles there that have become the bane of Stiles’ existence since the hospital. 

“Are your occipitals always this tight?” Derek asks, digging his thumbs into the hardened sore, flesh. 

Stiles bites back a moan and has to catch his breath for a moment. “Yes.” He says simply, unable to think at the moment, let alone form sentences. 

Derek makes a noise of concern and Stiles feels the large warm hands working down the front of his chest. He forces himself to stay still and calm. Derek’s hands are indisputably clinical as they move over his pectorals, lightly brushing his sensitive nipples, causing Stiles to shiver involuntarily. 

“Does it hurt?” Derek asks softly, his face bent over Stiles’ exposed form. 

“Um. No.” Stiles says, feeling the flush in his skin deepen, beyond mortified. Part of him wants to pull his arms around his naked chest and part of him doesn’t want this to end. Derek’s hands on him is so calming, so soothing, even with all the poison and ice between them. “I’m just... still a little... raw.” He finishes lamely. 

“Mmm.” Derek murmurs lowly. “They gave you some cream for that, right?” 

“Yeah.” Stiles’ says, his voice hoarse. 

Derek continues his examination of Stiles’ back and spine, the alpha's broad thumb pressing down against Stiles’ lower back. Stiles can feel him carefully checking all the omega pressure points, the alpha smelling for any slight changes or distress signals. Stiles tries to be patient, tries to breathe, but he finds his breath coming quicker and quicker and his pulse speeding under Derek’s touch. 

“Sitles,” Derek say, putting a broad hand over his abdomen. “It’s okay. I’m almost done, I promise.” 

“I’m tired.” Stiles snaps, wonder how more pink his body can get in sheer embarrassment. It’s so not his fault that he’s biologically programed to respond to Captain Soft Hands Idiot Brain. “This is stupid and I just want to go home.” 

“I know,” Derek says in a crooning tone that almost sounds comforting. “Just few more pressure points. You’re doing so well.”

Stiles is so lost in the sensations of Derek touching and probing his pressure points and sore muscles he doesn’t hear the door opening behind him. 

“What the hell is going on?” Jordan’s eyes are flashing fire and his white teeth are bared as he snarls his way forwards towards Derek. “How did you get in here?”

Derek stares back sardonically, his hands not moving from Stiles’ abdomen. “I’m the captain of this team, and my family owns this performance center.” 

“So you think you can do whatever you want with Stiles?” Jordan asks. “You’re even sicker than I thought-“

Stiles stands up wearily, wanting to nip this in the bud before they all had a repeat of the last time Derek and Jordan met. “Jordan, stop.” Stiles puts a hand on Jordan’s arm. “He just came in because our coaches want to see if he can smell how I’m doing. It’s not a big deal.” 

Jordan throws an arm around Stiles, pulling him in with rough hands, attempting to curl the thinner omega in towards his body. “Stiles is fine.” Jordan says, shooting a pointed look at Derek. “He’s great. He’s better than he’s been in a long time.” 

Derek rises from the bench, standing in his full height, towering over Stiles and Jordan. Stiles’ skin is still tender and he aches a little, but he doesn’t want to further escalate this powder keg. He’s too tired to move and he doesn’t want to fight.

“Are we done here?” He asks meekly, not meeting Derek’s eye. 

“Yes.” Derek answers softly in a voice Stiles imagines is meant for his ears only. “I’m sorry for interrupting, Stiles.” The large alpha turns to head towards the door and then stops, looking at Jordan, expressionless. “You’re hurting him.” He says, his voice cold. “His skin is still sensitive right now and you’re pressing too hard.” Derek walks out leaving Stiles, tired and careworn, behind.


	34. Sing for Me

_It’s dark. A delicious kind of velvet darkness where everything is safe and soft and home. Stiles’ sensitive skin, normally an itching, raw curse feels wonderfully tight and responsive under the perfect pull and friction of his alpha’s massive, soothing hands. One of the huge, warm hands is resting against Stiles’ abdomen, a firm, comforting presence on his flexing muscles. The other is busy, stroking all over, the large fingers probing and running all along his shoulders, his all too aware nipples, Stiles’ sensitive omega neck, never still, never leaving his body, and yet it’s not enough either. Stiles can only lean back into his alpha’s broad, sheltering chest and want. Somewhere in the blessed darkness Stiles’ registers his alpha’s deep voice whispering some throaty comfort growls against Stiles’ Adam’s apple, a rasp of masculine lips rubbing across his flesh. Stiles leans into the sensation, his body begging his alpha for the affection, touch starved and needy. He barely registers his own whimpers, soft, stunted cries to his mate, wordless entries to be held closer, to be cradled and protected. His mate murmurs sympathetic nonsense in response, kissing down Stiles’ jaw line and behind his ear. Each kiss is decisive, an emphatic press of his alpha’s lips to Stiles’ happy skin, as if each one would leave a mark behind until Stiles’ is an intricate pattern, specific to his alpha. And here, in the safe darkness Stiles’ whole body is alive in this knowledge, relived to be claimed, protected, loved. His skin sings for his alpha’s touch. He has been too long without it._

_“Derek...” The name is out, a moan on his lips, a perfect reverberation in Stiles throat and fuck if it doesn’t feel so right._

_“I know, baby.” Derek’s low voice answers, half kiss, half growl in his ear. “I’m here. Shhhh... I know what you need.”_

_But Stiles isn’t sure. Derek’s hands on his chest don’t feel like nearly enough right now. He rubs himself instinctively backwards against his alpha’s muscled body, searching for confirmation of his alpha’s desire. When he feels Derek’s sizable erection, Stiles keens, his breath catching in his throat. He lets out an embarrassingly needy whine. The hard cock against him is so hot and so good, Stiles can’t bring himself to care._

_Derek chuckles in his ear and nips at Stiles’ sensitive lob sharply, bucking back into Stiles’ ass, all hard, domineering flesh grinding into him, demanding and somehow just as soothing as it arousing._

_“Derek, please...” Stiles groans, rubbing himself shamelessly against his alpha, every carefully dance-toned muscle grinding and undulating against the hard shaft pressing against him. His body is searching for sensation, wanting to provoke his alpha, wanting to please. Stiles is desperate for every touch, every connection between him and his mate. “I’m so empty...”_

_“Fuck, Stiles...” Derek sounds deliciously breathless against his cheek. “I’ve got you, baby. Such a good omega for me. Smells so good... so perfect... nobody’s like you, Stiles...”_

_Stiles’ is so hard it’s painful. His cock is weeping and achy and he’s sure it’s an angry red, trapped in his boxers. He can’t see anything, everything is darkness and Derek’s wood smoke sweat home scent and part of him wants to stay like this, his alpha’s huge cock snug against him, erect and pulsing. It’s so good. Perfectly sweet torture. He feels so wanted, so needed._

_“Please...” Stiles’ whines again, more of a noise than a word. “I need you... I need this, Derek. Oh god, I hurt all over...”_

_Derek’s enormous hand closes around Stiles’ throat now, firm, but not stifleing so large it nearly encompasses the whole thing. Sharp teeth nip into Stiles ear again, and Stiles feels his body rolled roughly and flipped down so he’s on his stomach, taking the full weight of his alpha. The sensation of Derek fully against him, pressing him down is calms him._

_“Are you wet for me, sweetheart?” Derek growls, low and dirty above Stiles. “I can smell you. You’re soaked. Nobody can get you wet like I can, baby. Nobody can get you this needy, this hot... nobody gets to see you being a little slut but me...”_

_Stiles moans openly, nearly sobbing. Every nerve in his body is standing at attention for his alpha, his mate. He’s not thinking being strong now or what he should do. He’s not thinking about what’s right. Stiles is nothing but need now, nothing but a cloying, begging, heat. His body is a delicious symphony of tension and he knows only Derek can sate him, only Derek can touch him in all the ways he needs, all the ways he’s desperate for._

_“Don’t leave me, Derek.” Stiles cries, face down, bucking up against the weight and heft of his protector. “Don’t go... don’t ever leave me!”_

_“Stiles...” His name is a raw, devastated answering sob._

Stiles opens his eyes suddenly, his breath a shuddering gasp. Gone is the soothing, protecting weight. Gone is the wood smoke home scent. Stiles is soaked through with cold sweat and his own slick. He looks around his moonlit room feeling deeply alone and somehow filled with shame and an oppressive sadness. All of a sudden he can’t stand his own scent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ending this one for now- will follow up with sequel.


	35. Batman

Two weeks. And it’s like Stiles can taste him, feel him, see him, smell him. This isn’t fair. Stiles has fought to be here. Fought to be healthy and free. Somehow, with the dreams, Stiles feels more captured than ever. It shouldn’t be this way and it makes Stiles feel restless in a new way, like his skin isn’t his own. He’s seriously angry about the whole thing. 

Stiles hits the gym with a vengeance worthy of every Batman from West to Bale. He Skypes every trainer he’s had in the past two years and consults each one on fighting his way back to the top. Erica moves in with Stiles for the fourteen days between the convention and when he has to move back to Beacon Hills to start training for the next season. She makes binders, color-coordinated charts, schedules- and then puts everything in a Google Doc so every trainer, nutritionist, PR person, and doctor is on the same page. She even copies Boyd in as Stiles’ performance partner on the team. Everyone congratulates him on being back without mentioning the drop by name. Stiles can’t even find the good humor to smile. He grits his teeth and demands they push him harder, work him better. 

Erica was a champion in her own right and she worries over Stiles like the dance mother he never had. She brushes his short hair every night, ESPN on in the background, and launders his dance clothes by hand even though he insists he has a person for that. One morning an enormous package arrives from the company who makes the Loups’ custom warmup and practice gear. The company still knows and loves Erica, and the former dancer had pulled some strings and ordered Stiles a whole wardrobe of custom, personalized, monogrammed practice clothes for Stiles- all with the Loups colors and logos. Stiles blushes when he sees it all and hugs Erica, feeling for the first time ever like a kid going back to school with cool new clothes. He tries to pay her back for it all but she refuses, smirking and hinting something about Laura Hale’s unmitigated enthusiasm. 

Out of the drop, Stiles sleeps. But this is only a fresh kind of torture. When Stiles sleeps he dreams and it’s like every dream leaves him breathless and wet and hard and ... furious. It’s like Stiles is going through puberty again, only instead of generalized arousal at random things, this time his body has a very pointed, very specific obsession. It’s gotten so Stiles has seen Derek so much in his dreams, he shouldn’t be able to miss him in waking life. He shouldn’t...

Stiles wakes one night, squirming and slick with his own terrible arousal, his bedroom door open and sliver of yellow light coming in from the hall. He can hear Erica outside pacing with her tablet, Skyping Boyd. 

“No, things are going great, Boyd. I mean, dance-wise. I’ve never seen anyone make such a quick turn around.” Erica is saying, but her voice sounds taught. 

“His dancing was good at the convention, Erica.” Boyd’s tinny voice says back. “But it wasn’t a competition solo and he isn’t going to fool anyone who is out to get him- which is pretty much everyone from what I can tell. His muscle mass is still shit.” 

Erica sighs. “It’s getting better. Stiles might be the best omega dancer in the world, but he doesn’t have superpowers and it’s unfair to expect that from him. You of all people should know that, Boyd. He’s good. He’s getting better every day. By the first competition he’ll be just fine. Honestly, after the shit this team has put him through, you should just be happy you’re getting your partner and our friend back.” 

“Hey- I’m on Stiles’ side, baby. You know that.” Boyd sighs. “He’s my partner and I have his back. But you all haven’t been here for the past few weeks. We got three rookie omegas here in training camp and as far as I can tell all three are out for blood. You’d think Stiles’ has a neon target on his ass the way they talk about him. I tell them not to talk about their own teammate that way when I catch them at it, but you know how omegas are- they all want a chance to de-throne Stiles. It’s ten thousand times worse that Isaac retired.” Boyd snorts. “All three are vying to replace Isaac as Derek’s partner for competition. That spot should, by all rights, go to Stiles.” 

“You can’t ask him to do that, Boyd!” Erica’s hushed voice sounds scandalized. “After everything- that’s just risky. Do any of the owners give a shit about Stiles’ health or is it all about the cup for them?!” 

“Hey, calm down, babe.” Boyd says. “I’m not saying anything is going to happen. I love stunting with Stiles and I have his back for as long as he wants. But I’m saying- skill level alone. By all rights Stiles should be stunting with the captain. The rookies are hungry as fuck this season, but I’ve never seen an omega Stiles couldn’t dress down, even in the middle of the worst of the drop. I’m just saying our boy needs to check himself. Nothing in this game is handed to you, you know that as well as I do.” 

“Stiles will be ready.” Erica says, a hard edge to her voice. “And I don’t know if that’s a good thing, Boyd. He’s always been rather... prickly about working out and training and stuff, but since he’s come out of the drop... I don’t know what to think...” Her voice wavers a little in a way Stiles has never heard. 

“What do you mean?” Boyd asks. 

“He smells... odd again.” Erica sounds choked. 

“Shit.” Boyd swears. “You think he’s going into another drop. I’ma kill Derek. Motherfucker said Stiles smelled fine.” 

“Not that kind of smell, Boyd.” Erica still sounds nervous. “I don’t even want to tell you this.”

“Well you better.” Boyd says. “That’s my bread and butter we’re talking about.”

“He smells really... wet.” Erica finally admits and Stiles wants to die. Just. Die. “I... I don’t know how to talk to him about it. Mostly he seems... angry.” 

“Ehhh.” Boyd makes some indeterminate noise. “Why do I get the feeling this season may be even less fun that the last one?” 

“Because we’re planning a wedding?” Erica snorts.

“Nah,” Boyd laughs. “Marrying you is the only thing keeping me sane. I didn’t realize how good we had it last year when Stiles was the only rookie omega. Yeah, he was fucking insane, but he also wasn’t leeched on to Derek like a.... leech. Damn, I’m tired. Those damn omega puppies are something else, babe.”

“Aww,” Erica coos. “Don’t let them get too much scent on the captain. Stiles and I are flying out tomorrow and I don’t want to risk anything upsetting Mr. Grumpy Hormones anymore than what smells like a permanent boner already does.” 

“Ah, Babe! Gross!” Boyd blanches. “Actually, you know what? I’m going to let those rookies scent Derek as much as they want. Maybe Stiles will kill them tomorrow and they won’t be my problem anymore.” 

“I love you,” Erica laughs. 

In the dark, Mr. Grumpy Hormones wishes he could just dissolve in his own mortifying stench.


	36. Breathe

Stiles flies into Beacon Hills with Erica two days before he has to go in and start pre-season practices. Erica goes grocery shopping, cooks and freezes some pre-measured meals, and doesn’t bring up Stiles’ chronic boner syndrome. Thankfully. As an omega Stiles figures he’s packing less than an alpha or beta but that doesn’t make being constantly on edge, itchy, and swollen as fuck any less uncomfortable. The fact that everyone can smell this doesn’t exactly make this whole embarrassing problem any easier either. Whatever. If Stiles is going to smell like a goddess of fertility, then he’s going to be a dancing goddess of fertility. Blah. 

The first day of pre-season practice, Stiles texts Boyd to come in early and heads to the studio two hours before the rest of the team is supposed to come in. Boyd stretches Stiles out, and the alpha seems pleased with Stiles’ increased flexibility, but Stiles can’t get his muscles in gear. His whole body is tense, refusing to settle or calm itself. Everything seems to be tight- the stretches hurt more than ususal. Mostly Stiles’ skin hums and jumps nervously. He tries desperately to calm himself, to get his head in the game. He can’t help but feel as though he’s headed to his own execution. The whole place smells of sweat and adrenaline and hundreds of athletes. And Derek. Stiles’ body knows he’s in Derek’s territory and he can’t help but feel... fearful. Vulnerable. 

Stiles looks over from his position bent on the floor next to Boyd. Boyd’s hands and on his back, strong, steady pressure helping him melt into the floor. Boyd catches his eye, sideways. 

“Breathe.” Boyd says. “You look good, buddy. You look strong.”

“I look fucking powerful.” Stiles smirks, batting Boyd playfully. 

“I see your ego is up and running.” Boyd laughs. “See if you can take this, Superboy!” He digs into Stiles’ shoulder, gently pressing Stiles’ deeper into the floor. 

“GAWDDAMNIT!” Stiles swears, laughing breathlessly. “That hurts, motherfucker!”

Boyd laughs back, fully and Stiles scampers up and starts chasing the larger alpha in a series of impressive, if not somewhat lackadaisical series of athletic balletic jumps and leaps across the floor. 

“Come at me, Bro!” Stiles calls, dancing around like some kind of fucking maniacal fairy.

“You’re fucking ridiculous, Stiles!” Boyd snickers. “Get back here, you fucking gazelle!” 

“And here we have the world’s highest scoring omega back from medical leave and our assistant alpha captain, whom you’ve already met.” Coach Finstock’s dry voice comes over the room and Stiles’ and Boyd turn to see eleven rookies, Derek, and three coaches staring at he and Boyd from the doorway of the studio. “For those of you who are wondering, this is not how we normally warm up in the morning.” Finstock adds. “Welcome to your rookie season.” 

“Yo.” Boyd raises a hand at the group, smiling. 

Stiles looks over at the group leerily and looks away quickly. He walks over to the side, feeling all the air in his lungs disappear. He bends down and picks up a water bottle, gulping the water down greedily. Somewhere in the background of the distracting hum that has come over his body Stiles hears Boyd say, “Should we start getting the rookies warmed up, Derek?”

“One moment,” Stiles hears Derek say and his whole body goes still. “I need to talk to Stilinski.” 

“Is that okay, Stiles?” Boyd says, and Stiles turns slowly, looking up to see Boyd, Derek, the coaches, and the rookies staring at him. 

“Something wrong?” Stiles asks Finstock, pointedly looking at the head coach instead of Derek. 

“Stiles, please?” Derek says, and his voice makes it clear this isn’t really a choice. 

“Yeah...” Stiles swallows, looking at Boyd. “Of course.”


	37. Before You Go

Stiles follows the tall impassive alpha into the deserted omega locker room, his arms crossed around his chest protectively. When they’re finally alone together Stiles sits on a bench, turning to face Derek, staring up at him, keeping his eyes carefully closed, guarded. 

“What now, captain?” Stiles says, sighing. His voice sounds metallic to his own ears. “Another impromptu physical exam?” He keeps himself from blushing resolutely. 

Derek turns a little pink instead, but the enormous alpha won’t look at Stiles. “Sorry.” Derek says lowly. “I know... I know it’s... I know you don’t like it. But I have to know...” Derek swallows, still looking down. “I have to know that you’re okay.”

“Do I look like I’m not okay?” Stiles can’t help leaning forwards towards the alpha, almost challenging him a bit. “I feel fine. Not that you’ve ever listened to me-“

“Stiles.” Derek’s voice is soft but it effectively cuts Stiles’ sarcasm off at the root. “Just let me.” He walks over and reaches out and presses two large fingers to Stiles’ pulse at his neck. Stiles’ shivers in response, but he sighs internally, resigned. “Boyd,” Derek swallows again and Stiles can’t help but shoot the alpha a look. Derek has never sounded like this before. So unsure. So fragile. “Boyd said you smelled off.”

Stiles finds it impossible to keep from blushing fully now. “Yeah?” He asks and his voice squeaks a bit. “How so?”

“He... he wouldn’t get into it.” Derek says quietly, making his way down Stiles’ neck. “But I just want to know...” Derek lets out a sigh and his large, warm hand stills on Stiles’ neck. “Don’t worry. This is the last time- I promise.” 

Stiles shoots another look up to the alpha, having a near physical reaction to these words for reasons he can’t understand. Stiles head is automatically computing a million miles an hour.

“Derek,” Stiles says, his eyes narrowed. “Are you okay?”

Derek doesn’t answer. The large alpha only sinks down on the bench next to Stiles, Derek’s large hand still on Stiles neck. 

“Stiles,” Derek starts softly and Stiles turns fully to face the alpha, not a foot away. “Something has come up.” 

“What?” Stiles demands immediately. “What’s happened? Derek are you okay?” 

“Calm down.” Derek says and his hand absently pets Stiles’ neck comfortingly. Derek looks at Stiles with something like a smile, but it looks too pinched, too pained somehow to convey any real happiness. “It’s good news.”

Stiles cannot see how anything that would make Derek smell so damn weird and look like that would be good, but he stares up at the alpha anyways. “Yeah?” He croaks. 

“Yeah,” Derek says. “I’ve been talking to the board, to the owners.” Derek says, his voice low and rough. “My sisters...” Derek’s hand stops its soothing motion over Stiles’s neck. “We’ve been talking a lot, actually. Since... well, since about a month ago or so.” 

“Okay...” Stiles says, still confused. “So?”

“Something’s come up.” Derek repeats again like a broken robot, unhelpful and dead. “I don’t want you to think... I mean there’s been a lot of talk on TV and everything, and I don’t want you to think that we haven’t, that we’re not concerned about what you want- we are. We care. We do. And-“

“Derek!” Stiles says, patience officially driven completely from his entire being. “Cut the shit.”

“There’s an opportunity for you to be traded.” Derek finally spits out, his face looking a little like plastic, numb and slow. “To New York. And not next season either. They’re willing to take you now.”

“What?” Stiles can feel his eyes growing two times larger than their normal size. 

“We have so many rookies this year,” Derek says quickly. “The numbers will be okay on the Loups’ end. Of course the owners don’t want to let you go- you’re... valuable. You know that. But we need to think about what’s best for you, too. And it’s not like you can perform if you’re... compromised. My sisters- and the other owners get that now. New York has offered double to buy your contract, so it’s not like money is a thing... I mean...” Derek finally stops talking and looks up at Stiles, his eyes deep and enormous and unreadable. “I just- I want to make sure you’re okay before you go.”


	38. Easy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is in so many sections. Working on it as I can.

If Stiles hadn’t been already sitting down, he would have fallen over. All of a sudden he can barely breathe, barely think. His brain is buzzing and nothing in the room seems to be able to come into focus. Derek’s voice is somewhere floating around in the back of his mind, but it feels very far away. Admittedly, he and Derek have done their fair share of rejecting each other, but the natural order of things was to let the alpha dictate the tone of the relationship, and goddamnit- Derek started it when he married the beta, and then ended it when he’d gone insane and kissed Stiles on fucking ESPN. If anything, all the rest has just been Stiles reacting to Derek’s inability to formalize some semblance of stability about this whole mess. Stiles couldn’t deny now they were tied together biologically- and in more ways than just their stupid wrists. Over the years, and particularly since they had began seeing each other in person Stiles couldn’t avoid being effected by everything the alpha does. Stiles was strong. Stiles was a professional- and yet Stiles hadn’t been able to stop himself from going into a drop and then the grande mal of drops that had nearly cost him his career all because of Derek. His scent had changed constantly over the last year, all aimed at getting Derek’s attention, trying to tell them both something they hadn’t wanted to hear. That Stiles’ still didn’t want to hear. But now, sitting with Derek, not even an arms length away, the alpha- _his_ alpha telling him they were trading him felt like the final, worst rejection of them all.

Stiles swallows. And the swallows again. He can feel his face getting how and it’s like his whole body is trying to constrict around him and he’s desperately trying to breathe and not cry but he’s failing at both. Tears are flowing down his face freely now and it’s mortifying. Stiles instinctively pulls his knees up to his chest and hugs them tightly. Derek is saying something and it sounds alarmed but Stiles is just realizing this now.

“Stiles!” Both of Derek’s hands are on his shoulders and the alpha is looking down at him. “Are you okay? What’s wrong? I thought you be happy...”

Stiles looks at Derek but his face is blurred through Stiles’ tears. He takes a few gasping breaths and tries to talk but just ends up wrenching his shoulders away from the alpha, standing up and taking a few steps away, his shoulders hunched in on himself.

“Don’t do this.” Derek’s voice is low and sad, but it’s his alpha tone and something about that is damnably impossible to ignore- even when Stiles’ alpha is once again ruining his life. “Don’t turn away from me, Stiles. You have to talk to me.” Derek is behind him now, about a foot away. “I know... I know how you feel about me. But I’m trying to do the right thing for you, Stiles. I thought if you were away it would make things easier for you.” His voice is closer now, in Stiles’ ear, “Stiles, talk to me.”

Stiles can’t seem to find it in him to disobey a direct order from his alpha right now, so he opens his mouth and tries to speak but words won’t come out. He wipes his eyes with the back of his arm like a child and tries to take a shuddering breath feeling weak, feeling broken for the hundredth time.

Finally he is able to form a sentence. “You’re sending me away.” Stiles’ voice is small and he barely recognizes it as his own. “You want me to leave... The Loups are my family. They’re the only thing I have left that feels right anymore and you want me to go.”

“Goddamnit Stiles!” Derek’s voice is tight. “I can’t keep doing this to you! Everything I do is the wrong thing for you, for us. The only thing I can think of- the only thing that’s left is for one of us to go. I would go myself if it wasn’t for Devon. He needs to stay in California with our families and his mom. I can’t just sit here and watch you suffer anymore Stiles! Not if I can do something about it! I’m sorry, but I can’t do nothing. I can’t stand-“

“You.” Stiles’ small voice cuts Derek off. “It’s always about you. It’s always been about you, Derek. Well that makes sense- you’re the one who decided you couldn’t love me. You decided that before we even met, probably before I was even born.” Stiles eyes fill with tears again and everything just feels like too much, too overwhelming. His omega instincts are crawling their way to the surface in a strong, wailing sort of agony. “And haven’t I been good, Derek? I accepted that you can't love me. I didn’t come here to break you and the mother of your son up. I did what was best for you. I’ve been trying, Derek. I’ve been dancing and training the hardest I can. I’ve been trying to make you proud, Derek. Do my best for the Loups. I should have known I can’t fucking win...”

“You told me you wanted me to go.” Derek’s voice is thick and sounds infinitely incredulous. “You told me if I loved you I would let you go, and I did. Don’t you dare think it wasn’t the hardest thing I’ve ever done, walking away from you like that. Don’t think that every part of me wasn’t screaming that it was wrong. But I did it because you asked me to.”

“What else was I supposed to do, Derek?!” Stiles asks through his tears. “You had a fucking family! I’ve never been a priority in this situation-“

“Fuck that!” Derek snarls. “You’re all I ever think about-“

“Since when?” Stiles’ demands. “Since biology has forced you into it? Since you can’t avoid me and my scent? Is that why you’re sending me away? Makes it easier for you?”

“Fuck you- nothing about this is easy.” Derek says, his eyes blazing. “You might want to ignore it, Stiles. You might want to pretend this isn’t happening, but I have an omega that I need to take care of more than I need my next breath and this feels like the only option to keep him safe. What am I supposed to do?”

“You weren’t supposed to give up on us!” Stiles exclaims and he can barely believe his own words. His whole body heaves into a sob. “You gave up on us, Derek.” He repeats quietly. “I was lost. I was scared, Derek. You’d never been there and I needed you, but it didn’t feel like I should, like I had any right to you when you already had a family. But I needed you, Derek. I needed my alpha.” Stiles looks up at Derek, wreck and crying. “I screamed for you, Derek. I know Heather told you. I screamed for you for days and days, Derek and you never came. I was so scared. I felt like I had been calling for you forever. What did you expect me to do, Derek? You’ve never been there. I figured it would be easier to learn to live without you.”


	39. Avalanche

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Avalanche  
> ((https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zXMnhdybkMY))

All of a sudden Stiles has no idea what is going on. He’d been under the (apparently faulty,) assumption that he and his sorry excuse for a soul mate had been having an earnest discussion about the tenuous and highly complicated state of their relationship like the (dysfunctional) adults they are, but once again it seems that Stiles has misread the room because he’s being thrown up against a wall and all there he can see or smell or perceive is Derek caging him in with his enormous fucking strong alpha arms and hitting him with a stare that could wreck a building or devastate a nation state. Derek is nosing at his neck, his hips grinding hard and dirty and angry into Stiles’ trapped body. Derek is making some indeterminate alpha noises, and fuck- his scent is all over, clouding Stiles’ mind and pushing Stiles even further over the edge of reason. Stiles is still crying, still hurting like his whole body is a raw wound seeping blood and guts and feeling all over the place, but now his teeth are bared too. 

“The fuck, Derek...” He groans, and he can feel hot tears sliding down his face. “Fucking fuck..” Derek’s teeth graze the side of his throat, more of a breathe than a breath, but a distinctly devastating sensation to Stiles’ already over-saturated being. Stiles grinds his hips back into his alpha, half rebellion, half plea. “Do it.” He growls between impossibly clenched teeth, not even cognizant of what he’s asking for. “Fucking do it, you fucking motherfucker. I don’t fucking care anymore. Just fucking do it, Derek. Do the fuck what you want.” Stiles is babbling now, his voice getting higher and faster, almost hysterical, and he thinks he might be shouting. Crying and shouting and shaking and falling apart. But Derek is here, really here- close enough to touch, to hold, to cling to, to hurt. And Derek’s home scent is so perfect, so terrible, so much like everything Stiles’ ever dreamed and dreaded and Stiles knows he can’t go on this way. Stiles feels himself giving up and giving in and instead of the cool, numb, detachment Stiles had expected all that’s left is a terribly anxious desperation. “Do it, Derek!” He screams, tears falling into Derek’s hair, on the alpha’s skin. “You’ve already fucking ruined me, you motherfucking son of a bitch- DO IT! Take what you want! Take the rest- I don’t fucking care! I just can’t...” Stiles breaks down into sobs now, collapsing against his alpha, every muscle in his body going limp. And Derek is supporting his full weight as Stiles sobs into Derek’s neck. “Just make it stop.” He cries. “I can’t fucking do it anymore, Derek. It hurts too much. I hurt...” Stiles breaks off again, shaking unabashedly in Derek’s arms. “Make it stop, Derek. Make it stop. Just don’t leave me.”

“Oh Stiles.” It’s more of a growl than words, but Derek is holding him so tightly Stiles can barely breath and that’s what Stiles desperately wants- no, needs. “Stiles...” Derek coos his name into Stiles ear. “My omega.” Some part of Stiles vaguely registers Derek reaching down blindly and ripping off Stiles’ wrist guard. He hears Derek’s being thrown to the ground a second later. “I won’t let you go. Never again. I love you. Fuck everything. I love you and you belong with me and I’m not going to let you do this alone ever again. Nobody is ever going to take you from me. I’m going to take care of you and you’re going to be here with me and get healthy and it’s going to be the way things are supposed to be.” Derek is murmuring and growling this into his ear, sounding wrecked and bestial and every bit as lost to the world as Stiles feels. 

“Derek-” Stiles starts hesitantly, some part of his old nightmares, his old insecurities coming bubbling up. “I can’t-“

“Shhh.” Derek growls. “No more over-thinking this. For either of us.” He presses Stiles head back decisively, careful but so firm and so steady in his touch and bites down hard until Stiles feels blood and thinks he screams again. “Mine...” Derek rasps, and Stiles feels their wrists meet in some sort of abstract kiss. 

“I love you.” Stiles thinks he breathes. He’s not sure because his world is very small right now and he can barely see. All he knows is his alpha’s scent and that dream feeling of home and safety and surrender. He thinks Derek is half carrying him, half hauling him up and they’re on the move for some reason Stiles has no particular interest in. 

“I can’t do this here.” He thinks he hears Derek muttering. The alpha is purposeful and has some kind of bright, dazed look on his intense face that makes Stiles think Derek could walk through a wall right now with no physical repercussions. Derek has Stiles under his arm, or in both arms- Stiles isn’t really sure, and suddenly they’re in the door of the studio with about forty people staring at them like they’re on fire or have just grown a third head between them or something. “We’re leaving.” Derek announces gruffly and almost in the same breath he’s turning both he and Stiles out back into the hallway. “We’ll be back.. at some point.” 

“Wait-“ Boyd calls after them, and a few of the coaches echo the dancer. Derek turns back and looks positively murderous. “Stiles- are you bleeding?” 

Stiles looks back, but he’s too fucked out on emotions whatever the hell Derek’s bite did to his biochemistry to make his mouth give a damn about working right now. 

“That is none of your concern.” Derek snarls back, every one of his menacing teeth showing.

“When are you coming back?” One of the coaches ventures to ask. “Is Stiles even coming back?” 

“We’ll both be back when I’m done!” Derek calls, already on the march.

“So like... next year?” Boyd’s voice carries down the hall after them. “I mean, can we get like a time line or something, man?” 

“Fuck you!” Derek says, but Stiles doesn’t think anyone can hear them because they may already be in the parking lot or something. Fuck it. Derek is right. Stiles is so done over-thinking this. He may actually be done thinking altogether.


	40. The Kitchen

Adam Levine’s voice over the speaker system is the first thing Stiles registers in Derek’s kitchen as the alpha pulls him through the foyer of Laura’s guest house, and then up against the refrigerator, mouthing at Stiles’ bloody neck, Derek’s strong hands spanning the length of Stiles’ body. It takes Stiles about 240 seconds after that to start coming out of the natural romcom date rape cocktail of endorphins and whatever else Derek’s bite has sent racing through his traitorous system, and all of a sudden the panic sets in again heavy and undeniable. Actually, fuck that- there isn’t anything remotely comedic or romantic about this and there never has been. They’re more like the most unromantic, petty, terrible tragedy and Stiles is pretty sure he’d told himself multiple fucking times he was done doing the whole thing. Today has been a hot mess- that much is pretty much clear to Stiles and possibly anyone even remotely interested in them as people. It’s clear to their friends and families and probably fucking ESPN. He can’t remember the last time he’s cried and screamed and raged at Derek all in one breath, but he’s pretty sure it was in the hospital- and that is not exactly a good precedent to set. What’s worse is this is all happening with alarming frequency and it’s not okay. Really. I mean, who does this? This is not the way Stiles has programmed himself to be. All of a sudden Stiles feels a cold sweat breaking over him along with a good, solid dose of reality and he’s going still and silent under Derek’s barrage of affection and open mouthed kisses. 

Derek doesn’t seem to notice. The passionate alpha has wrapped himself around Stiles like some kind of cage of flesh and saliva and is mostly intent on coating Stiles in his scent. Stiles apparently lost his shirt sometime during all of this and without his wrist guard he’s bare and bleeding from the neck and turned on and scared and- Jesus fuck. What is even happening here?

Derek, who apparently is making it back to planet Earth has stopped running his lips all over Stiles and separates himself from the omega’s flesh, if just by a hair. 

“Stiles,” He gasps and Stiles looks up at him, the omega’s eyes blown wide open and terrified. “Are you okay, baby? What is it?” 

“I-“ Stiles chokes out, feeling his whole body beginning to shake uncontrollably and for the millionth time Stiles hates being an omega. “I... Derek...”

“Shhh...” Derek soothes, pressing Stiles to his broad, warm chest. “I’m here. It’s okay.” 

Stiles makes a choked noise again and tries desperately to iterate that’s the actual problem here, but what he ends up doing instead is articulately elbowing his alpha hard in the gut, and pushing Derek away from him as hard and fast has he possibly can. Stiles isn’t strong but he’s caught Derek off guard and the alpha trips and then stares back at Stiles, unbelieving, hurt, and confused.

“Stiles?”

“What-“ Stiles gasps, pressing his back against the fridge, going from an ardent lover to a cornered animal in two seconds flat. “What are we doing?” His breath is speeding up rapidly and he finds himself nearly hysterical for the second time since breakfast. “I mean- what the actual fuck, Derek?”

“Oh fuck no,” Derek mutters, coming towards him, his long, strong arms reaching towards Stiles. “You don’t get to do this again. Come on, Stiles, we’re not doing this again.” 

“Doing what?” Stiles says, his voice embarrassingly higher than any girl he’s ever met. “What are we- you know what?” Stiles turns and bolts towards the door. Derek is on him almost immediately, one of his large hands grabbing his wrist. Stiles wrenches his hand away. “Stop it, Derek! I think... I think we need to actually stop and think about this.”

“Trust me- we don’t.” Derek says and he looks 100% serious. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life.”

“Yeah, that’s... that’s great, Derek.” Stiles says, still trying desperately to gather himself. “I’m glad this has been so fucking easy for you-“

“What?!”

“But seriously. I mean, we have like, careers-“

“Not important.” Derek says quickly, taking a step towards Stiles again. “We’re athletes. Not like, senators...” 

“You have a son!”

Derek sighs. “I never, ever thought I’d hear myself say this, but I am sick of hearing about my son.” 

“You have a wife, too.” Stiles presses, digging in his heels.

“Not for much longer. Don’t pretend you don’t know that.” Derek says, folding his arms. 

“I have a life!” Stiles squeaks.

“You have a medical file the size of the King James Bible.” Derek corrects. “That’s not the same thing.” 

“Derek- I don’t know how to do this.” Stiles whines, feeling like he seriously needs some air. 

“Let me show you,” Derek growls, predatorily closing in on him, the alpha’s body heat radiating off him. “It’s easy. I’ve been thinking about it- a lot.” 

“Derek, be serious!” Stiles says shooting Derek his best pleading look.

“You’re the one not being serious.” Derek says, leaning in close to graze Stiles’ ear. “I’ve never been more serious.”

Stiles pushes Derek away again, staring up at the alpha with mistrust, feeling like he’s once again not being heard, being truly understood. And it’s frustrating and maddening and honestly really doesn’t bode well for the future. 

“Alright.” Derek says, sighing. “I’m pulling rank. Get the fuck back here-“

“You can’t fucking do that!” Stiles shoots back incredulously. “You’re not the captain here, dickbag-“

“I’m not pulling the C card.” Derek corrects impatiently. “I’m your alpha. Now stop being ridiculous and let me make this better-“

“Oh fuck no.” Stiles mutters, already on the move again, trying subconsciously to put more distance between them so he can think. “You don’t get to alpha me.”

“The bite on your neck says otherwise.” Derek says, smirking a little, looking entirely too proud of himself. 

And just- no, to that. Stiles reaches up to finger the tacky blood at his neck, but he isn’t about to be derailed. “If you think I trust you that much you’re fucking insane.” Stiles pauses. “You’re fucking insane. And if you think anything can make this better... then I don’t even fucking know...”

“Stiles.”

“No.” Stiles says, putting up both hands in front of himself protectively. “You’re not the only one who has thought about this, asshole. I’ve thought about this- and not just with my dick, thank you. I’m not like you, Derek. I don’t just fucking look at something, want it, and then do whatever the fuck I want. You don’t fucking understand, asshole! You don’t know how you’ve destroyed me!” Stiles looks at Derek, his eyes wide, everything in him trying to make Derek understand. “I think I’m like, broken now Derek. I love you, I’m not denying that- I’ve NEVER denied that. But fuck Derek- I can’t even trust myself. Do you know how that is? I love you and all I want to do now is run.”

Derek’s face is filled at once with horror. “No,” His voice is grating and thick. “No Stiles, you can’t-“

“Don’t tell me what I can’t do-“

“You can’t do this.” Derek says and Stiles sees the alpha’s eyes fill with tears. It’s a terrible thing, watching an alpha- his alpha, cry. It’s so unusual and antithetical to anything Stiles knows about alphas, about Derek, and it hurts Stiles but it feels oddly vindicating as well. “I love you and you love me. Don’t you understand how much I fucking love you, Stiles? My family loves you. The team loves you. Everything and everyone knows we’re supposed to be together. I might not have always done the right thing, but I’m doing it now. I’ve put you above everything. Please...” Derek’s voice breaks off in a sob. “You’re right- I don’t understand, but I know when something is right and I know you can’t leave me- you can’t leave this. This isn’t supposed to end like this. You’re suppose to let me fix this- to let us have this. I love you.” He breaks off in a whine, walking towards Stiles. “It’s not much, I know, in light of everything. But I do. God, I do.” 

Stiles opens his mouth, fully intent of rebutting Derek but he finds he just... can’t. Stiles is broken and he’s too used to being on his own. Everything in him is telling Stiles if he wants to survive Derek, survive this, he needs to go, needs to get the fuck right out of here. Stiles turns tail and bolts for the door. He hears Derek make some kind of noise, but Stiles is through the front door and sprinting down the long driveway, heading out towards traffic and he doesn’t know what else. Derek is behind him and he feels the alpha’s arms wrapping around him, effectively skidding them both to a halt in the front yard. Stiles fights blindly, trying to get away, his breath coming in great gasps and everything is once again too much. Stiles is so fucking tired of himself. Of both of them. He just wants to flee, to run until his legs give out and he’s somewhere nobody knows him or Derek or what they’ve done to each other. 

“Stiles!” Derek’s voice is in his ear again and Stiles throws some kind of awkward punch in the direction of the sound only to have his wrist gripped by the alpha’s huge hand. “Stiles, please. Just stop for one fucking second!” Stiles squirms to get free and Derek’s arms release him. Stiles turns and looks at his alpha, panting. 

“Stop trying to get in my way, Derek! Stop it!” Stiles orders shrilly. “I can’t fucking-“ 

Derek holds his hands up, miserable and sick, and Stiles thinks the alpha finally mirrors the way Stiles has been feeling for years. “I’m not going to stop you from leaving. I’m not- I promise.” Derek says. “But take this-“ The alpha shoves a crumpled envelop into Stiles’ hand. “Read it. I won’t ask you for another thing- just read it. Please. Read it and remember that I love you and you love me. I know you don’t trust me but just... I think you could. Just... please.” 

Stiles stares at the envelope and then nods at Derek. Then he turns around and runs the hell out of there.


	41. Beer and Sympathy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ((Wait for You))  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8fL4eH1SY-M

“So he-“

“Mmmhm.”

“And then you-”

“Yep.”

“And then he just took off down Laura’s driveway?” Boyd eyes Derek sideways over a beer. 

“Yes. Yes, he did.” 

“Without a shirt on.”

“Yeah.”

“Bleeding from the neck.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Any idea where he was going?” Boyd asks, looking slightly concerned.

“He really didn’t make that clear.” Derek takes a drag on his beer.

“Huh.” Boyd says, sitting back in his chair. “Derek, your omega is crazy. And not in the way all omegas are crazy. He’s a special kind of crazy.” Boyd tilts his head at his captain. “And the universe made the calculations and decided that you two are the best fit for each other. Now- what do you think that says about you?” 

“I... I don’t even want to start thinking about the answer to that question.” Derek scrunches his face up. 

“I think it says you shouldn’t have kids together.” Boyd says. “I don’t know how Devon turned out so well with one half of your crazyass genetics. And you know his mama’s her own brand of batshit. I guess two crazies equal one normal person. Maybe you and Stiles can pop out the next generation of dance stars after all.”

“We’d have to have actually have sex first, Boyd.” Derek mutters. “And that doesn’t apparently seem to be one of Stiles’ priorities at the moment.”

“Yeah,” Boyd agrees. “He’s too busy running into the same mental wall over and over. But don’t worry about it.”

Derek stares at him incredulously. “How exactly am I not supposed to worry about Stiles pushing me away for the millionth time and running through Laura’s gated community all bloody and half naked like some kind of alpha-less escaped mental patient?” 

Boyd doesn’t seem particularly impressed by this. “Yeah, well. That’s just Stiles. He’ll get over it.” 

“When?” Derek asks darkly.

“When he feels like it.” Boyd shrugs. “Derek, you’ve said your piece, you’ve let Stiles vent- I don’t see what the big deal is. You bit him- nobody else is going to touch that now. He’s safe- he called Erica and she picked him up before he got too far through the neighborhood-“

Derek eyes him. “You didn’t think you should mention that to me?” 

“The omegas made me promise not to tell you where he was.” Boyd shrugs again. “The point is- I don’t see how this is such a surprise to you, man. I could of told you this is what was going to happen- hell, I would have if you hadn’t been so intent on cave-manning your way out of the studio today.” 

“I don’t get it.” Derek admits, reaching for another beer.

“Derek, omegas aren’t like us. They aren’t like betas, either. If they don’t feel safe they’ll go to extreme measures until they feel like they can stabilize again.” Boyd sighs. “I’ve hung out with Stiles a lot, and I don’t think that dude has ever felt secure- at least not as long as I’ve known him. What do you think all of his obsessive compulsive training, dieting, list making shit is about? Stiles has felt out of control since you got married and now he thinks the only way to make things better is to cut out any risks in his life and that means you.”

“He can’t keep doing this.” Derek says glaring at the wall. “It’s killing both of us, but it will kill him first.”

“Stiles isn’t stupid, Derek.” Boyd says. “He’ll get there.” 

“So what do I do?” Derek asks, putting his face in his hands. 

“Do? Nothing, dude.” Boyd says. “Make sure your divorce goes through. Keep taking care of your kid.” 

“How do I know he’ll... he’ll come back?” Derek asks quietly. 

Boyd looks thoughtful. “You know, Stiles doesn’t like to talk about his feelings much. That’s his issue- well, one of his issues. He lets things build up inside until he’s a crazy bitch and you’re tackling him on your sister’s lawn. But one time he told me- ‘All I know, is that I don’t want to feel like this anymore.’” Boyd looks over at Derek. “Stiles knows where he belongs, Derek. He’s always known- even before your stupid-ass did. He’ll be back. He’s tired, Derek. He’ll be ready to stop running soon.” 

“I don’t know if that’s true.” Derek whispers. “You said it yourself, Boyd. He’s not thinking right. I think I messed him up good. I don’t know if he knows his way back without me there to show him.”


	42. Frozen Yogurt and Women's Sunglasses

“Shut up! So he-“ 

“It was not good.” 

“And then you-“

“Probably not one of my finest moments either.” 

“Shut up!” Erica slams her non-fat iced latte down a little too hard on the table in the seating area of her long time favorite Beacon Hills omega salon. “You did not even!”

Stiles sniffs and adjusts the enormous pair of Erica’s House of Harlow shades he’s got perched on his nose. “Apparently- I did.”

“And he just ran out the door behind you and tackled you?” 

“Classy, I know.”

“In front of the neighbors?!”

“And God and the flying spaghetti monster and probably fucking TMZ.” Stiles purses his lips, pulling absently at the McQueen scarf wrapped around his neck hiding all evidence of the last few hours. 

“Just totally alpha-ed out all over Laura’s lawn?” 

“Keep your voice down!” Stiles hisses, glaring at Erica over her glasses. “I’m not exactly proud of this. I mean, it’s really embarrassing.”

“No,” Erica shakes her head at him. “The fact that you’ve been smelling like walking Viagra for the last few weeks is embarrassing. This- this is...” She takes a sip of coffee. “What the fuck is this, Stiles?”

“I don’t even know.” Stiles groans miserably. “I think I’m fucked in the head. Like, I shouldn’t be allowed to operate heavy machinery or anything.”

“Sweetie.” Erica makes a sympathetic face and reaches for Stiles’ hand across the table. “You should eat that.” She motions down to the pint of melting frozen yogurt that she’d handed Stiles the moment he’d opened her car door. 

“No.” 

“Stiles. Eat it.”

“No.” Stiles frowns. “I’ll get fat. I’m probably already getting fat from not training hard enough this summer.”

“Okay,” Erica says. “I’m going to ignore that because I think all of Derek’s alpha pheromones are turning you into a dumb bitch right now, but seriously- Honey, as stupid as he is, you can’t keep doing this.” 

“I don’t even know what you mean.” Stiles says around a mouthful of yogurt. 

“Sweetie,” Erica says, with a sad smile. “Lord knows I love torturing the alphas as much as the next omega, and I don’t want you to think I’m taking Derek’s side on this- because I’m totally not, but come on. You made your point- sounds like Derek ate a bag of dicks, it’s time to go home. Not like, literally. But you should, you know, call him at some point.” 

“You think I’m doing this because I want Derek to suffer?” Stiles asks incredulously. “Fuck- I’m doing this because I’m terrified! What am I supposed to do, Erica? Even if Derek suddenly had some kind of miraculous insight and can be everything I thought I ever wanted- I have no idea how to stop myself from panicking about this.” Stiles looks down, his voice breaking a little. “16 days since Derek turned my life upside-down the last time. 46 days. That’s how long it’s been since I was cleared from the megalo-drop. Before that it was a hundred some days in a mezzo drop. I can’t control any of this. And the scary, devastating life-altering episodes are getting closer and closer together.” He looks back up. “Erica, I’m scared. I don’t think Derek understands what it’s like to think you’re about to die- to be 100% completely sure of it. I don’t know how I’m ever going to get over that.”

“Stiles,” Erica sounds infinitely sad. “Alphas aren’t like us. We all know that. They don’t know fear the way we do. They don’t know what it’s like to be physically terrified that if one person, one fucking stranger the universe has picked out for us rejects us that we’ll be condemned to a life of struggle and constant fighting and humiliation and danger. But they have gut protective instincts we don’t. They’re raised to think it’s their job to fix our problems, to be strong. They’re lost without us, Stiles. We’re the center of their worlds. Sure, Derek has been clumsy fixing this, but he can’t think clearly without you, Stiles. All he knows is something hurts and he has to do his best to fix it as fast as he can, in any way he can.” 

Stiles sighs, feeling a deep kind of body ache. He hugs his knees to his chest.

“You miss him, don’t you?” Erica says knowingly. “What did his letter say?”

“I didn’t read it.” Stiles sighs. “I’m a fucking coward. I hate this.”

“Read it.” Erica says. “If nothing else, you should do that for yourself, Stiles. You deserve to know the truth.” 

“Erica?” Stiles asks quietly.

“Yes, honey?”

“Do you think this could work? I mean, Derek and I?” Stiles stares at his lap.

“Do you love him?” Erica asks. 

Stiles frowns, willing himself not to start crying... again. “Yeah.” He swallows. 

“Then of course it can work.”


	43. How to Return Home

“You’re delusional. Christ. I’ve always known you were impulsive, Derek. It’s part of being an alpha- I get that. But Jesus, Derek, you’re wasting your life and everyone knows it.”

Derek folds his arms across his chest, calmly looking at his soon-to-be ex-wife across the kitchen. He’s pretty sure he read somewhere that not kicking the mother of your child out of your house is part of being a good parent, but he’s getting a little tired of this. 

“We’ve been over this, Kate.” Derek says evenly. He reaches down to take a sip of his red wine. “I think I fully understand your position by now. And once again, I’m sorry you feel this way, but it doesn’t change anything.” 

“They laugh at you, you know?” Kate says, her whole face tight and twisted into a humorless smile. Kate objectively is a beautiful woman. Everybody from the media to even, at one point a drunk-under-the-table Cora says so, but standing here, watching her stare him down poisonously Derek honestly can’t for the life of him remember why. Even so, his heart twists as the woman he married continues. “Everyone does- all of our old friends. They can’t see why I’m still sticking around. Everyone knows I’m way too good for you. My mother warned me, you know? She said I shouldn’t tie myself to the black sheep of the Hale family. I mean, Jesus! Everyone knows how much of a stuck up bitch your meddling older sister is, but I stuck by you because I love you, Derek. I love you even though you were a selfish, impulsive immature prick when I married you.” 

Derek nods, conceding to that point.

“And now, even I can’t believe what a ungrateful bastard you are, Derek.” Kate continues, a lone tear falling down her hard face. She’s talking about a mile a minute, caustic and biting. “You were nothing when we met- nothing! Can you honestly say if it wasn’t for me, for Devon, that you’d be anything? Look at where you are now without me, Derek. Back living under Laura’s thumb in her guest house. Jesus, I thought you’d grown a pair. But you’re chasing some jailbait 20 year-old omega child instead of being there for your son-“

“Hey-“ Derek interrupts levelly. “I have been there for my son. What happens between you and I has nothing to do with him.” 

“It has everything to do with him, Derek!” Kate counters. “You turned your back on me and our son, Derek. You broke up our home to chase some little boy- because of what? Because of a stupid birthmark? Jesus, Derek. How do you even know he’s your soulmate? Did he give you a child? Did you stand up in front of witnesses and promise to love him forever? Don’t think I don’t hear things, Derek. I know he doesn’t love you. You’re just something for him to play with, for him to jerk around, and if you were thinking straight you’d see how obvious that is!” 

“Kate-“ Derek puts up a hand. “I’m not going to say that I’ve done everything right by you, but there is so much that you don’t understand, that I don’t expect you to understand-“ 

“Then explain it to me, Derek!” Kate exclaims. “All you do is walk away like this is nothing to you! Is your family that unimportant, Derek?” 

“Yeah, I made a promise to you, Kate.” Derek says, feeling tired and angry and mostly just missing Stiles, even with his ex-wife in the room staring him down. He steps forwards to Kate, an arms length away. “But don’t act like you didn’t know that this could happen. I’m an alpha, Kate. And no matter what you convinced me of back before we were married, before you were even pregnant- no matter what you convinced yourself, I have an omega. And that means something. That means I made a promise to Stiles before I met you, before Devon was born. The way I look at it, I made a promise to Stiles before he was even born. And I haven’t explained because I know you don’t understand and you won’t accept this and I’m trying to avoid any more conflict between us for the sake of our son, but I am an alpha and that means regardless of what Stiles does or thinks or even if he never comes around I will wait for him.”

Kate reaches out and puts her hands on Derek’s arms, her face looking up at him, shiny and wet with tears. “He doesn’t love you, Derek. I know he doesn’t- everybody knows he doesn’t. If he did where is he? I know what happened today at the studio, Derek. If he loves you why isn’t he here?” She presses herself against Derek. “We can still have it all, Derek. We can still raise our little boy in one house. We can still have the perfect, American dream.”

Derek enfolds Kate in his arms reluctantly. “I’m sorry.” He whispers, holding the mother of his child. “I’m sorry I hurt you, Kate. I really am. But we never had it all.”

“We have a life together, Derek.” Kate says tearfully. “How can you just let that go? Everything was perfect.” 

“I’m sorry.” Derek repeats, unsure of what else to say. He’s exhausted, completely worn down. 

“He can’t love you like I do.” Kate says into Derek’s neck and Derek feels helpless. “You see that, don’t you? Tell me this doesn’t feel right. We belong together. You know that.” 

“Derek.” 

The voice in the doorway is instantly familiar and both Derek and Kate turn to see Stiles standing at the mouth of the kitchen. The omega has an inscrutable look on his gaunt face. Derek nearly jumps out of his skin, instantly wanting to run to his omega and press Stiles to his chest and never let him go again, but Kate has a firm grasp on his upper arms.

“Am I interrupting something?” Stiles’ voice is leaden and sounds unlike anything Derek has ever heard from the omega.

“Yes.” Kate says icily, her large eyes turning on the omega fiercely. 

“I see.” Stiles says.

“You’re not interrupting anything, Stiles.” Derek says quickly. He de-tangles himself from Kate quickly and walks up to Stiles. “She was just giving me an update on Devon. She’s leaving. Welcome home.”


	44. Phase

“I don’t live here.” Stiles folds his arms in front of his chest divisively and leans away from Derek, sidestepping the alpha carefully. “You don’t live here permanently, either.” He swallows awkwardly, looking down away from the glacial beta and the anxious alpha. “I’ll... I’ll go.”

“Stiles, no.” Derek says, reaching out to catch the omega’s wrist in his giant hand. “She’s leaving.” Derek curls in, almost like he’s trying to block Stiles’ from Kate’s view. He turns back to the beta. “Please. I think we’re finished with this.” 

“Derek,” Stiles looks up at him with large eyes. “I’ll go- she’s your wife.”

“Oh, you know that, do you?” Kate’s voice rings out from across the kitchen, sarcastic and tense. “I didn’t realize you knew. Or maybe you just don’t care-“

“Kate!” Derek’s voice is cutting. “Come on, you know he has nothing to do with this!”

“He has a son, you little home-wrecker!” Kate snarls, advancing on Stiles. “But you didn’t think about that, did you?” 

Derek whirls around on Kate, “Alright, you need to go.” 

Stiles has both hands up cautiously, trying to look at the feuding couple with a neutral expression. “I’m leaving. It’s okay-“

“No, it’s not!” Derek snaps, frustrated. He turns back to Kate. “As enlightening as this charade of a relationship always is, Kate, you’re upsetting my omega and I think it’s in everyone’s best interest if you leave now. Please. I’m asking you to get out immediately. Being away from Stiles has not been good for me and I don’t think I can handle you... looking at him like that. Or him looking at me like this.” Derek swallows. “Please.”

“Fine.” Kate says shortly, glaring at Stiles. “But this isn’t over, Derek. You and I both know that.” She turns to Stiles. “You’re a phase.” She spits. “He’ll get tired of you and come back to his family soon. Where he belongs.” She scoffs, a nasty look taking over her features. “I feel sorry for you. You’re pathetic, thinking Derek could ever really love you. He and I have a life together- you’re just a temporary distraction.” Kate turns and slams the guest house door shut on the way out, leaving Derek and Stiles in silence together. 

“I’m sorry,” Derek says immediately, stepping close to the omega. Stiles steps away from him, but slowly, not as quick and panicked as usual. 

“She makes some good points.” Stiles swallows, looking down and over, unseeing and tired sounding. 

“She absolutely does not.” Derek says firmly. “She’s angry and not used to not getting her way.”

“Well,” Stiles sighs. “That makes three of us.” 

There’s a moment’s silence and then Derek clears his throat, feeling so much and yet unable to come up with how to say it. 

“I’m glad you’re here.” He settles on quietly. “I was so afraid you wouldn’t come back.” 

“I shouldn’t have.” Stiles mutters. “I didn’t expect to see... her.” 

“I’m sorry.” Derek says again. “If it would make you feel better I would promise that you’d never have to be in the same room, or even the same block as her again.” 

Stiles doesn’t respond, he just keeps staring off into nothing. “She loves you.” He says. 

“She loves being married to a professional athlete.” Derek rolls his eyes. “If she loved me she might have noticed how being without you was killing me.”

Stiles sighs again and a long moment goes by before he says. “I don’t know why I’m here. I just...” Stiles trails off looking lost. “I read your letter. Erica told me to. And then I read it again. I don’t want to be here.” Stiles looks up a the ceiling and back at his shoes again. “I don’t want to be away from you either. I don’t want to talk to you or look at you or even smell you. I don’t want to love you. I wish you didn’t love me either. I wish this was easy.” Stiles sighs. “I’m sick of my own head. And we’ve got practice tomorrow. So. I’m here.” 

Derek steps towards his omega, not hurried or desperate or urgent. He just walks forwards. “Will you sit with me?” He asks.


	45. After Dark

They sit on the couch together and Derek’s scent is close and incredible. Stiles is exhausted and a very fragile, primal part of him just wants to curl himself around his alpha and fall asleep, wants to submit and beg Derek to protect him and shelter him from the world. 

“What are you going to do, Stiles?” Derek says finally. 

Stiles feels himself frown, his face twisting along with his insides. He leans towards Derek shyly, tentatively, and damnit he’s shaking again. Derek makes a pained noise and wraps his arms around Stiles tightly, drawing the omega close to him. Stiles answers by pressing his face into Derek’s neck, scenting the alpha thoroughly. Derek whines and kisses Stiles’ forehead gently, his lips skimming the surface, waking Stiles’s skin up until the omega is on edge, squirming and desperate, every nerve heightened and singing under the alpha’s caresses. Stiles’ hips cant over Derek’s, finding some kind of desperate clumsy rhythm, but Stiles can’t bring himself to care. Everything hurts and it’s been like this for far too long.

“Stiles,” Derek groans out. “You can’t just-“ The alpha breaks off in a pant, his strong, broad chest heaving. “Baby, you can’t... I’m going to lose control and hurt you... come on...” Derek tries to move Stiles bucking, writhing form off of his equally anxious on, but Stiles isn’t having it.

“I don’t care.” Stiles breathes into Derek’s ear. “Just touch me, Derek. Touch me...”

“You can’t say things like that either,” Derek moans, running his large fingers all over Stiles’ scalp and down to knead Stiles’ sensitive omega neck. 

“Please Derek,” Stiles sighs, his mind receding back into a fog of arousal and need. “Just stay with me...” 

Derek moans in response, kissing down Stiles’ neck to lathe at the bite mark he inflicted earlier. The alpha pulls off Stiles’ shirt and pants roughly, leaving Stiles in his boxers, and hauls him up, pressing Stiles’ bare, sensitive chest against Derek’s own. Stiles whines at the sensation and shamelessly rubs himself against Derek’s thigh, instinctively seeking out the delicious sensation of Derek’s skin against his own. It’s not enough to sate the low ache that’s building in Stiles’ and he whines into Derek’s lips, trying to spur the alpha into action. Derek is breathing heavily into Stiles’ ear, but he’s holding him gently and carrying him over across the doorway into a bedroom. Stiles moans instinctively when Derek sets him down on the bed- the blankets and sheets smell pungently of Derek and Stiles rolls around in them, trying to rub as much of Derek on his skin as possible. Derek makes some soft noise of affection and pulls of his own shirt and pants, leaving the alpha in the same state as Stiles before bending down to lay next to Stiles, and pull the covers around both of them. Stiles leans back into his alpha’s solid grasp, rubbing his ass sordidly against Derek’s hard cock. Derek growls softly in response and pins Stiles down, stilling the omega.

“Derek....” Stiles whines, confused.

“Not tonight, baby.” Derek says firmly. “You’re tired and confused and you still need to get used to my scent. Just sleep, Stiles. You need it.” 

Stiles squirmed back, trying to remind Derek that he wasn’t the only one turned on and desperate, but Derek seemed to have his mind made up. The alpha grazed the back of Stiles’ neck in warning with his sharp teeth. 

“You need to learn how to relax.” Derek murmurs. 

And Stiles isn’t happy about this, but Derek is right- he’s exhausted. The same part of Stiles that wants to grind back against his alpha until they both get some kind of relief also knows Stiles is safe and warm and stabile and soon Stiles finds himself drifting off to sleep, luxuriating in Derek’s home scent.


	46. Of Dark and Dawn

The blissful solitude of the velvet darkness is back and this time Derek’s delicious, mouth-watering scent is stronger than any of Stiles’ other dreams. Derek’s strong, steady arms are around Stiles, gently soothing the omega’s sides and wandering down the curve of his hip bones. The soft brushes, the teasing caresses of Derek’s large, warm fingers moving down Stiles’ chest slowly awaken Stiles’ skin, sensitizing him to the alpha’s touch until Stiles entire body aches, a low, ebbing need curling deep within him. Stiles shifts in his alpha’s grasp, twisting his hips just slightly over Derek’s erection, immediately calmed and somehow reassured by the heat and heft of his alpha being so close. Stiles moans a little in the perfect darkness, reaching down to take the hand that is skimming over his ribs and pulling it up to suckle at Derek’s finger tips. Derek’s fingers feel large and alien in Stiles’ mouth and he flicks his tongue over them greedily, loving the feeling of part of his alpha between his flush lips. Derek hisses in Stiles ear, unseen in the black safety their nest, and Stiles hums happily in response, feeling the muscles in his hole shift open slightly with his increasing arousal, and he can feel the wet, slickness begin to pool between his cheeks. His alpha must be able to smell him because Derek growls, low and dirty in Stiles’ ear and grinds his large palm against Stiles’ weeping cock. The friction of Stiles’ thin, ribbed boxer briefs over his taut and aching cock combined with the heat of Derek’s hand and the knowledge that this is his alpha touching his most sensitive places drives Stiles into small pleading omega noises. He grinds himself back, slow and hard against his alpha’s cock and Derek swears in Stiles’ ear before reaching over to get a firm grasp on the omega’s slim hips, guiding Stiles’ body against his own until Stiles’ ass his rubbing and hitting everywhere Derek wants. Stiles craves this. Hungers for it in ways he doesn’t remember until the dreams like this one hit. He’s always surprised by how good this feels, how amazing it is to have his most sensitive areas stroked and teased by his alpha’s rough hands. 

Stiles is sure he’s been making the most embarrassingly needy moan and mews up until this point but he actually cries out when Derek rips Stiles’ damp boxers off and aggressively begins kneading Stiles’ ass in his amazingly large hands. Derek’s warm fingers are rubbing closer and closer to Stiles’ hole and Stiles can feel his own arousal leaking out and down his thighs. Everything in Stiles is coiled, hot and tight and he’s breathing heavily in halting, shuddering breaths. His dreams have never been so vivid, so detailed before and Stiles thinks he needs some part of Derek inside of him- right now, or he’ll go crazy. 

Derek seems to understand instinctively. The alpha’s large, broad thumb edges its way between Stiles clenched cheeks and begins rubbing in a tantalizingly slow circle around the sensitive ridges of Stiles’ hole. The sensation is amazing and unlike anything Stiles has ever felt. He keens and jumps under Derek’s hands, unable to stop himself rubbing himself hard against his alpha’s teasing thumb, trying desperately to increase the sensations. One of Derek’s large, long fingers palpate against Stiles’ slick opening and Stiles can feel himself being spread open slowly. The invasion is painful and raw and so good, Stiles lets out a strangled cry, his whole body tight and flexing in pleasure. Derek’s got two enormous fingers in him before Stiles can even think, but it’s not enough. The burn is incredible- it hurts so good and stings in the best way. 

All Stiles wants is to feel his alpha inside him, filling up his empty places, comforting him, there in the most solid way Stiles can imagine. He’s laying on his back with Derek on top of him now, chest to bare chest, and Derek’s superior weight is pressing him down in the most delicious way. Stiles writhes against him, feeling Derek’s hips spreading his legs open. Stiles feels bare and vulnerable, but so safe at the same time. Being separate from his alpha isn’t an option right now and he wants to be close to Derek in the best way he knows how. He feels Derek’s cock probing his slick hole and whines, just whines at the feeling. Derek begins pressing into him and Stiles arches up, trying desperately to accommodate as much of the alpha’s hot girth as possible. Derek is big, bigger than Stiles could have ever imagined, and Stiles has never done this before, never felt the overwhelming need to mate and touch and fuck the way he does now. Derek eases in a little at a time, fucking back and forth in tiny, torturous motions, going a little deeper every time, pressing his shaft in and out of Stiles until the omega is panting and wrecked, writhing helplessly on the bed. 

Finally Derek’s bottomed out and Stiles has never felt more full, more helpless, and yet, he also feels safer and calmer than he could have imagined. He can feel Derek pulsing inside of him, stretching him in the most deliciously painful way possible. Stiles squeezes around Derek experimentally and the alpha growls harshly in response. After that it’s as if something has broken in Derek and the alpha’s teeth are lodged firmly in Stiles’ neck as Derek begins fucking him with a punishing force. Stiles feels his hands clawing at the alpha’s broad back, both of them making incoherent, primal animal noises. This doesn’t feel like any of the sex Stiles has seen in alpha/omega porn. It’s like a punishing, grueling dance. Derek is hammering and pounding into him, bitting at Stiles’ neck, wringing pleasure out of Stiles and it hurts as much as it feels good. It feels like a beating- like an assault and redemption and real and incredible. Stiles cries out as his alpha mark his body, inside and out. Whatever happens after this, Stiles will never be the same, never be without some part of Derek with him and it feels like heaven. 

Stiles cock is hard and messy and weeping against his stomach and his own orgasm takes him completely by surprise. He nearly blacks out with the force of it, every muscle in his body going still as he screams out. He can feel himself milking around Derek and the alpha growls and cums not a moment later, flooding Stiles with warmth and wetness. 

The force of Stiles’ orgasm changes something in him and he looks around the room as he begins to come down from the overwhelming feeling. Derek is still pressing him hard into the mattress, and some part of him in Stiles’ ass is swelling up, large and hard and Christ- it hurts. Stiles is slowly realizing with a dull sort of horror that this might actually not be a dream. Derek is grunting into him, licking at Stiles’ neck and as wrecked as Stiles feels, the confusion and panic in him is rapidly overtaking the afterglow. 

“Mmmm,” Derek moans into Stiles’ neck, his voice sloppy and languid. “I love you, Stiles.” 

Stiles attempts to wriggle away from the alpha quickly only to find them tied together, Derek’s cock stuck in his hole. Stiles knows what’s happening- he’s read sex ed books and everything, but he’s also totally taken aback by what’s happened and all he wants to do is get away. He tries again only to have Derek swear, a sharp stinging pain shooting through Stiles’ hole. They aren’t going anywhere. This may be completely unacceptable. 

“The fuck?” Stiles barks, staring Derek. Derek’s cock is stuck inside of him, and the alpha’s enormous body is draped over Stiles like he has every right. 

“Stop it, Stiles!” Derek says. “We’re knotted. That hurts!”

Stiles yanks his hips back again experimentally, and Derek and he both swear at the resulting pain. Stiles turns back, his eyes wide and flashing.

“Make it stop!” He snaps. 

“What the hell, Stiles!” Derek stares back at him, unbelieving. “I can’t just make it stop!” 

“Jesus Christ!” Stiles thinks he yells, and he tries to sit up, eyes bolting around the room. “How the fuck did this happen?” 

“What do you mean?” Derek asks from under him somewhere. “You were there! You know how it happened!”

“I THOUGHT I WAS DREAMING!” Stiles thunders, pulling himself as far away from the alpha as he can. It only hurts him more, and Derek curses colorfully and pulls him back, sealing an unhappy Stiles in his grasp.

“Cut that out!” Derek says. “Stop moving! You’ll hurt yourself. And me.” 

Stiles thinks he actually hisses at his alpha in response. 

“What do you mean- you thought you were dreaming?!” Derek demands. “Do you fuck me often in your dreams?!”

“Yes!” Stiles exclaims, too confused and panicked to feel shame. “Now let me go, you asshole!”

“I can’t!” Derek yells back, apparently done trying to be reasonable. “I’m popping a knot here!” 

This is all really just too much for Stiles and he turns and smacks Derek with as much force as he can muster at such a weird angle. “Well, make it stop!” He screams.

“Hey!” Derek snarls and takes hold of Stiles’ wrists. He flips them over in one easy motion, using his obviously superior strength to drive Stiles into the mattress, covering the omega’s body completely with his own. Derek holds Stiles’ wrists together above his head, his breath hitting Stiles’ ear. 

“Let me go, asswipe!” Stiles snarls, bucking and thrashing under Derek’s heavy frame. 

“I can’t.” Derek says grimly into Stiles’ neck. “You’ll do something stupid. Now calm the fuck down.”

“No!” Stiles says, ever the contrarian. He squirms under Derek, but the stubborn alpha is a lot stronger than even Stiles originally thought and it’s obviously they aren’t going anywhere. Stiles isn’t about to give up and he writhes and moves as much as he can within the limited space he has under Derek. He flares his muscles angrily, having a sort of trapped tantrum, moving up and down and under Derek’s torso. He can feel Derek’s knot, large and solid and hotter than blood, deep inside him, but he doesn’t realize the way he’s moving on it in his haste to find a way out, until his feels something inside of him rub across the hard knot. Stiles gasps at the sensation, his cock filling quickly again. Something inside of him feels amazing as he writhes on the pressure of Derek’s knot. 

Stiles lets out a hoarse moan as bucks his hips up and over the sensitive area. “Wha- what?” Stiles gasps.

Derek lets out a low moan. “Stiles...” He says, breathless. “You should stop that, baby... I’m going to... it feels too good...”

Derek is bucking back into his hips now and it’s like Stiles’ body is all sensitive and raw again. The dull aching feeling in Stiles’ hole is delicious and he can feel himself flexing against Derek all over again, searching out that sensation. He moans into the mattress and works himself up and down, seeking out the pleasure. 

“Oh God...” He sighs. “Derek... what...”

Derek doesn’t seem to feel up to answering in complete words. The alpha is slowly rotating his hips, back and around, growling softly between shuddering breaths. 

“That feel good, Stiles?” He breaths against Stiles’ ear. “You like that? Tell me you like my knot in you-tell me it feels good...” He breaks off in a groan.

“I- I can feel you, Derek.” Stiles stutters, completely engrossed in the amazing feelings shooting up his spine, radiating out to the ends of his body. “I- I...” 

Stiles can feel himself tense again, his orgasm flowing through his body, causing his already weak and exhausted muscles to spasm all over again. Derek is shaking and Stiles thinks he feels the alpha’s cum again and they’re holding each other tightly. Stiles buries his face into Derek’s arm, pressing the alpha as close to him as he can and just cries.


	47. Uisce Beatha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rxNYQwnl34w

“I could die right now.” Stiles’ voice is raw, careworn. His throat aches as if he’s been screaming his entire life and has only been taught silence now. “If I died right here, right now, like this... it would be enough.” 

The room is dark again. Stiles doesn’t know how long they’ve been here, tied together and it doesn’t matter. All he knows his he fell asleep crying for the first time in his life and woke up still connected to Derek and it doesn’t feel as weird as it should. It feels the opposite of weird, like Derek has made a place for himself in Stiles and nobody else will ever fit. Derek has ruined Stiles, only to make him whole again, and then ruin him all over again. There will be no going back after this and they both know it. There will be no pretending this didn’t happen. There will be no living apart. It’s over. 

Stiles sighs, knowing his alpha is awake and listening, silent and watchful. “What would you do if I died in your arms tonight?” Stiles asks, soul-tired and not really expecting a response. 

“I would die next to you, holding you, and the Loups would be screwed.” Derek rumbles. 

Stiles chuckles tiredly. He stretches slightly before settling back against Derek. There isn’t an inch of his body that isn’t sweaty and sore. He can’t imagine moving from this place, this home he’s found in Derek. He’s half terrified in some completely nonintellectual way that if he lets Derek out of his sight, out of his arms, he may never find him like this again, like this is all some cosmic joke and Stiles will be left cold and sick and alone again at any moment. 

“Will it ever stop hurting?” Stiles asks.

“I don’t know.” Derek says, his lips moving, velvet soft against Stiles’ neck. “I hope so.” Derek kisses his neck gently. “If we do this enough one day I may wake up and not think about all the nights where I should have been laying next to you, taking care of you. “ Derek sighs, ever so gently. “One day I hope I won’t be afraid you’ll change your mind.”

“I can’t ever imagine not being afraid.” Stiles confesses. “It’s been so long. I wish I knew how handle you better. How to handle this better, and not just now- before this too. Sometimes I think a stronger person, a better person would have known what to do without self-destructing-“ 

“Shhh.” Derek murmurs. “Your fears all belong to me now. I’m your alpha and I’ll keep everything you’re afraid of away. You don’t have to worry. I’m here now.”

“But I will.” Stiles says softly. “I think I always will. Sometimes I think my horrible, childish fears will overtake me.” 

“Then just stay with me, Stiles.” Derek says. “Stay with me and if it overtakes you, it will overtake us together.”


	48. Epilogue: Seven Years Later

“Stiles, you can’t do this!” Derek yells from the front door of the French modernist mansion he’d designed and built in the year after the former team captain had retired from professional performing. 

“Don’t tell me what to do, Derek! You know how well that’s worked out in the past!” Stiles yells back over his shoulder as he marches down their driveway, his arms filled with toiletries and clothing, a conspicuous trail of socks and yoga pants lying in his wake. 

“No, I mean you literally can’t do this.” Derek points out. “Boyd said you’re not allowed to crash in their guest house anymore when we fight.”

“Erica never said anything to me!” Stiles calls back. “And who says I’m going over there?”

“Hey!” Derek says. “Remember we agreed you could leave whenever you wanted for whatever dumb reason you want, but you have to tell you where you’re going. And that’s doubly true now that you’re pregnant!”

Stiles drops everything he’d been carrying and turns back towards the door, his face livid. “And whose fault is that, Derek?!” He thunders, his eyes flashing. 

“Both of ours.” Derek answers calmly, still not moving from the front steps. “And you can’t just flounce out of here with an armload of random shit whenever you hear something that makes you uncomfortable and Devon is out of the house. Last time you forgot to pack a toothbrush.”

“The fuck I can’t!” Stiles calls back. “I won two back to back Olympic gold medals and four national championship cups- don’t tell me what I can’t do in my own house!”

“Yes,” Derek rolls his eyes. “I know. You always say that like I didn’t win gold too- partnered to you, I might add. Or like this isn’t my house too. Or like we haven’t had this whole conversation like ten times before on the front lawn. It’s because of you, we can’t have neighbors.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Stiles spits. “I don’t remember ever being pregnant before now-“

“You know what I meant,” Derek sighs.

“Just because I’m retired this year and for the first time since I was like, eight I don’t have a job doesn’t give you any right to knock me up, you hyper-masculine alpha chauvinist!” Stiles shouts, pointing a finger at his alpha. “I am SO telling Laura on you!”

“Good!” Derek answers dryly. “She’ll be thrilled.” Derek ducks his head, a slow smile filling his entire face in the goofiest way. 

“Stop looking at me like that!” Stiles orders. “I am not happy with you!”

“I’m sorry,” Derek says, not looking sorry at all. “I am extremely happy with you right now.” 

Stiles’ shoulders slump, the anger draining from him. “Why did I ever have sex with you?” He moans into the universe. 

“Because it’s amazing.” Derek supplies. “And you love me. And we’re soul mates. And I love you more than anything in this entire world.” 

Stiles looks back at his alpha a little fondly, surrounded by his clothes in the drive. “If it turns out to be as big of a natural disaster as either one of us, this is your fault.” Stiles says.

Derek grins broadly. “I think I’m willing to take responsibility for that.” 

“And when it finds its soul mate we’re bringing them together regardless of age.” Stiles says.

“Okay.” Derek agrees easily. 

“Okay.” Stiles says, looking momentarily placated. He looks around. “I think I’m ready to come in now.” 

Derek smiles, walking towards him. “Are all of your demands stated for the record?” He asks, teasingly, putting him arms around Stiles.

“For now.” Stiles says grumpily. 

“Do I get one?” Derek asks, smiling down at him.

“No.” Stiles says, laughing.

“What about a request, then?” Derek says, kissing Stiles’ brow. 

“What?” Stiles demands, looking up at Derek suspiciously. 

Derek leans down to kiss Stiles again before dropping down on one knee and pulling something out of his pocket. A brilliant, delicate diamond band glints in the sun, the bright sparkle juxtaposed next to the black letters of Stiles’ name on Derek’s wrist. 

“Marry me, Stiles.” Derek whispers, looking up at his omega. “Say you’ll marry me and say you’ll never leave me, because I love you too much to ever to be without you and I want the whole world to know.” 

“I think they already do.” Stiles says, his eyes filling with tears, leaning down to kneel next to Derek, pressing his head against his alpha’s. “But okay.” 

Derek slides the band on Stiles’ hand and presses his mouth against Stiles’. They kiss for a moment, completely engrossed in their shared scent. 

Derek pulls back, just an inch away. “I am burning every wrist guard in this house.” He murmurs. 

Stiles smiles back. “I already did.” 

 

FIN


End file.
